


If Not for This

by L_Greene



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Drug Use, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Graphic Violence, Gratuitous language, Lizzie is a lesbian, M/M, Mags William and Lizzie are my OT3, Mags and William are twins since nowhere in canon is it stated that they're not, Mags and William are very close but I promise there's no incest, Mags is bi, Sexual Content, William is gay, also have some canonical NB characters, basically i can't write straight characters to save my life, fraternal twins, lots of liberties taken with canon but for the most part it aligns with gameplay, mostly I couldn't figure out who was older so I think as twins it's a negligible amount, slow burn f/f ship, spoilers for Nuka-World DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-15 17:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 58,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11810436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_Greene/pseuds/L_Greene
Summary: "Mags, William, and Lizzie. All you have to do is hear them speak to know they weren't born into this life. But they sure as hell were born for it." The story of the Operator gang leaders and how they got to Nuka-World.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I started this back in December 2016 or January 2017, I don't really remember. I spent most of my deployment working on this and hammering it out. This is part one of two (with a sequel already in the works). I would have posted the entire story in one fell swoop but there's some bits at the end I'm still fixing up. Hopefully it'll be up in the next few weeks. Honestly, I love the Operators so much that I could only bring myself to kill them the first time I went through the Nuka-World DLC. After that, I loved them too much.
> 
> I promise to you with all my heart that there is no incest shipping. I cannot believe that's actually a thing I have to disclaim but there it is. (I see the tags. I'm disappointed in any author who wrote it.)
> 
> Anyway, there will be LOTS of violence in this fic. It's hinted that Mags and William killed their parents (at the very least, their mother), and I actually do go over that here. It's graphic. There's more than just their parents' murders, too. Just tread lightly if violence isn't really your thing.
> 
> Finally, kudos and especially reviews are appreciated! If you like this fic and you want to read more, please let me know! Long, glowing reviews are my lifeblood, okay? Do not be shy about leaving reviews! (I'm begging you pls review and share with your friends PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE OKAY????)

_Diamond City, 2260._

Mag knew as soon as she woke up that it was going to be a bad day. For one thing, it was her birthday—hers and her brother's. Their birthday was usually one of the worst days of the year. Their mother would insist on them spending the whole day with her and their father, which meant they wouldn't get to see their best—and so far, only—friend Lizzie.

For another thing, she already knew exactly what their mother had planned for them, and that on its own was enough to make her want to pull the covers over her head and scream. But Will was already getting up, rolling out of bed and slouching to the dresser.

“I don't want to get up,” Mag announced, throwing an arm across her eyes and lying back.

“You're going to have to,” Will said. “Any moment now, she's going to call up those stairs and say—”

“Maggy! Bill! It's time to get up!”

They exchanged glances, and Mag nearly laughed. “It looks like you were right.” Reluctantly she sat up and started to get out of bed, rubbing her eyes. “Happy birthday, Will.”

“Happy birthday, Mag. Let's get going before she starts yelling.”

_Or hitting_ , Mag wanted to say, but she didn't. Neither of them liked to talk about that.

The two of them descended the stairs of the Upper Stands apartment together, more for solidarity than convenience. Mag hated this part of the mornings especially—she didn't like being touched by anyone except Will or Lizzie, so her mother brushing and styling her hair was practically torture. It made her feel like a rag doll. In fact, Mag was slowly coming to the realization that her mother saw them more as ornamentation than actual children.

“You're going to be such a darling when you grow up,” her mother would coo as she brushed back Mag's blond hair, “as long as you get rid of that surly attitude, of course.”

Mag was only seven, but she knew what surly meant—she was always bitter. “A handful,” as her father would often remark, but he only said it that way to be diplomatic.

They never called Will “surly” or “a handful,” though, despite him being just as angry as her. He had the good sense to keep his mouth shut. She hadn't developed that skill yet.

Her mother finally finished tugging her hair into a long braid, tying it back with, in Mag's opinion, an unnecessarily large bow. From the look on Will's face, he agreed. He might have been sitting patiently only a few feet away, his hands folded neatly in his lap, almost as neatly as part in his short brown hair, but he still wore an expression that Mag would only have called a glower.

They dutifully followed their mother into the kitchen, where their father was just finishing setting out breakfast. “There they are,” he said happily, setting down the pan in his hands to kiss Mag and Will good morning. “And happy birthday to you both! Seven years old—my goodness. You two are growing up so fast. Maggy, what a fine young lady you're turning into!”

_What a load of brahmin shit_ , Mag thought, but for once she knew better than to say anything.

“And Bill, my boy, look at how handsome you're getting!”

Will had told them many times that he hated being called “Bill,” but they persisted in calling him that anyway. He couldn't quite keep the look of irritation off his face, and their mother noticed.

“Behave yourself,” she snapped, emphasizing her point with a sharp smack to the back of his head.

Mag's nerves, already strained from this farce of a family show, finally snapped. “Don't hit him!” she yelled, and without really thinking it through, she sank her teeth into her mother's arm.

Her mother screamed and swatted, her father tried to pull her off, and Will tried to slink away but their mother grabbed him by the arm and held him fast.

“I can't believe you bit her,” Will said hours later. They'd both been beaten with their mother's belt until the steel buckle finally broke through their skin. Mag hadn't cried, but it had been close—tears welled up but she blinked them back. It wasn't until her mother turned the belt on Will that she'd finally broken into angry tears.

“I can't believe she hit you,” Mag said, her stomach growling. Neither of them had eaten more than a few bites of breakfast, and they had to suffer without lunch. They probably wouldn't eat until dinner. The absence from their parents would have suited Mag just fine if she hadn't been so hungry.

“She does it a lot.”

“I know. But every time, I get furious,” Mag said. “I don't know why. I just despise it when she does it.”

Will hugged her gingerly—the cuts on both of their backs still stung. “It's okay. I'm strong. I can handle it.”

“That's not the _point_ ,” Mag said, scrunching up her face to hide her tears again. Will had cried. He'd tried not to let her see it, but she did, and it had twisted in her stomach like a knife. Was that the worst part? Knowing that he was in pain and there was nothing she could do to stop it?

Somehow, even at seven, she knew what it meant. She could stand anything short of losing him. Will was her weak spot, but God help anyone who abused that knowledge.

Her mind conjured up the image of her mother, replaying those minutes she spent beating Will, and Mag made a decision. Her mother would pay. She didn't know when, but she knew. She would never forgive her mother.

* * *

_Diamond City, 2265._

The brahmin in the field mooed softly. Every sound made Mag grip the handle of her combat knife—stolen from right under the nose of Pedro Rodriguez of Commonwealth Weaponry while Will and Lizzie provided a distraction—ever more tightly as she, Will, and Lizzie slunk off to the Wall itself. They'd all been forbidden to stray so close to the Wall, of course, but they'd never been out there, outside the city before. They wouldn't be able to get out the front way, either—Diamond City Security would stop them and turn them right over to their parents.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Lizzie asked, staying crouched with a switchblade in hand.

“No one's making you come,” Mag hissed. “It's two against one, though, so you're not convincing _us_ not to go.”

Will nodded in agreement, his own swatter—aluminum, with a pair of saw blades attached, stolen from the back of Moe Cronin's shop—slung over his shoulder.

Lizzie glanced up toward the Upper Stands. They could see their apartments—both the Blacks' and the Wyaths'—from here. The sun was just beginning its descent, but they knew their parents didn't expect them home for hours.

“Well, _someone's_ got to make sure you two stay out of trouble,” Lizzie decided.

Mag smirked. “A fine goal, even if it _is_ an exercise in futility.” She led Will and Lizzie around back of the rusting playground, keeping to the shadows, until they were mere feet from the bookcase that covered the hole in the Wall. Everyone knew about it, and there were rumblings that something Needed To Be Done About It, but no one ever actually got around to it.

They waited until the Diamond City guard had finished his patrol past before they darted to the bookcase and pushed.

It was heavier than Mag expected, and it took all three of them shoving their shoulders against it to nudge it far enough out of the way for them all to fit through. Mag was the last one through, tugging the bookcase closed as best as she could, narrowly avoiding the next guard walking past.

But they were out.

Mag wasn't sure what she expected, but this wasn't it. She'd known, of course, how the bomb had leveled massive parts of the city that had once been called Boston, but she hadn't realized the scope of it. Unlike Diamond City, she couldn't see the end of it in any direction. It had been so _huge_ , and now it was gone, just a ruin. Nearly two hundred years, and it was still a ghost.

“Guard,” Will whispered, jarring Mag from her reverie. He pointed to their left, where a guard clad in the usual DC Security uniform was striding toward them, swatter out and ready for action.

They had no choice. They ducked right, hurrying as fast as they could while crouched. Mags saw the outline of what looked to be an alcove of some sort, and she figured it was as good a place as any to hide, so she led Will and Lizzie—the former cursing under his breath and the latter breathing heavily—toward it and slipped inside.

It looked like it had once been a store. There was a counter with a cash register and a magazine stand behind it, but that was all that was left now aside from a few shelves still precariously bolted to the walls. Mag bolted directly for the counter and dove behind.

“That was a close one,” she whispered, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

None of them said anything for a few minutes. If they turned their heads, they had a good view of more of the city, and it was chilling.

It seemed so empty. It had once been full of people, and now there was only crumbling buildings left. She couldn't imagine what it used to look like, but a part of her wished she could have seen it. Diamond City only had a few thousand people, but Boston had once held hundreds of thousands.

And they were all dead now.

“Can we get moving? This is creepy,” Lizzie said.

“Yeah, okay.” Mag picked up her knife again, crept to the entrance, and peered out. The coast looked clear, so she motioned for Will and Lizzie to follow her

“I didn't expect it to look like this,” Lizzie said.

“I didn't know cities could be this big,” Mag said.

“It would have been nice to see it without all the debris and rubble,” Will said.

“And super mutants—look!” Mag pointed straight ahead, to where a pair of green-skinned monsters were sitting. They hadn't caught sight of the three of them—they seemed more absorbed in their conversation, too absorbed to care about a group of human children—but if they stayed here, it was only a matter of time.

A volley of gunfire burst out in front of them; the three of them yelped in alarm and dropped to their knees. From behind the super mutants came a group of people dressed in leathers with pipe pistols and pipe rifles. _Raiders._ Mag had heard of them, but she'd never seen them in person before. _They're going to be killed._

The super mutants lumbered to their feet and began returning fire. Mag clapped her hands over her ears to block out the sound—it was deafening—but her eyes felt frozen open. Between the raiders and the super mutants, it was an incredible battle. One of the raiders, a young man with his hair shaved down except for a strip right down the middle, took out a mutant all on his own, lobbing a Molotov cocktail at it and following it up with a few blasts from his rifle.

The other raiders made short work of the other mutant, then the group picked the site clean and hurried off. Mag, Will, and Lizzie stared after them in amazement. Mag didn't know what either of them were thinking, but for her, it was like an epiphany.

Like a sting from a a bloodbug, the realization was sharp, undeniable, and painfully obvious. That—being a part of a raider gang, traveling around, scaring the living daylights out of people—and taking their caps, of course—that was what she wanted to do. It felt like that's what she'd been _meant_ for.

“Mag,” Will whispered. “We should go. It's getting late.”

Had they felt that call, too? What would she do if Will wanted nothing to do with the raider life? She'd leave it for him, she knew, if that's what he wanted. She'd be devastated, but she'd do it. But Lizzie, it seemed, looked ready creep toward the battle site to investigate. Maybe she'd felt it, too.

Mag looked at Will for a few moments. There was a strange look on his face as well, an expression Mags wanted to call wistful. He was white-knuckling his swatter, as if to keep himself in place.

“Those raiders were—” Mag started.

“ _Really fucking cool_ ,” Will finished.

“What if we started our own raider gang?” Mag said, looking from Will to Lizzie. “We could do it. We have the know-how. We can start training with ranged weapons—we've got four years until we're adults. That's plenty of time. It would be a great way to get caps, too. I bet those raiders just rake it in.”

“That's not a bad idea...” said Will slowly. “And I'm sure with our inheritances, we can have a nice little startup.”

An awed smile spread across Lizzie's face. “That would work. We could really do it. All we'd need is a group willing to follow us.”

“But we'd have to make a name for ourselves, first,” Mag said. “We'd have to take out another gang or something, get other raiders interested. Draw them to us that way. Which means we'll have to kill people. Are you both amenable to that?”

Will smirked. “Anything for you.”

Lizzie nodded. “I'm in, too.”

“None of us have ever killed someone before. So... we should do it together, the first time. Preferably someone who deserves it, but that's not necessary. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Will and Lizzie said.

Mag extended her hand straight out in front of her, palm up. Wordlessly, Will and Lizzie put their hands over hers, and she curled her fingers up to hold their hands. “Then this is the start of our raider gang. We'll be the leaders.”

“I'll follow you anywhere,” Will said.

“I've already stuck with you assholes through some awful things,” Lizzie half-joked. “You're stuck with me.”

Mag grinned. “Now we just need to think of a name.”

The crunch of gravel broke up their huddle. They whipped around just in time to see a Diamond City guard rounding the corner, but too late to do anything about it. He saw them just as they saw him. Fortunately, he looked stunned.

“Huh? What're you kids doin' out here?”

_Please don't recognize us, please don't recognize us_ , Mag begged silently.

“Hang on... you're the Black kids. And the Wyath girl. What—” the guard's voice sharpened. “What are you doing outside the Wall? How'd you get out, anyway? Your parents are gonna—”

Unconsciously, Mag's fingers had tightened on the handle of her combat knife as the guard spoke until she sprang forward and plunged it into his throat. She'd gotten lucky—the guard was so shocked that he hadn't gotten a chance to raise his swatter in self-defense.

He was bleeding out, sinking to his knees, but he couldn't make a sound beyond that terrible gasping sound. Mag turned to Will and Lizzie. “Together!” she whispered.

Will looked uncertain, but only for a split second. His spine stiffening, he charged forward, swinging his swatter with all his might. Even at twelve, he already had an outline that hinted at solid muscle in the future; the swatter and blades connected solidly with the guard's face, knocking a few teeth loose and breaking his nose—possibly shoving the bone into his brain—with a deafening crack, easily pulverizing part of his skull.

Lizzie, spurred on by them, finally came over, delicately sidestepping the growing pools of blood to kneel behind the guard. In one fluid motion, she planted her switchblade into one of the guard's kidneys—they'd just learned where the kidneys were in school. She then yanked out the switch, shoved it into his other kidney, and then finally brought it straight up through the base of his skull.

“That was ruthless,” Mag said to her, more impressed than she expected to be. The last blow had done it—with one last gasp, the guard slumped sideways, clearly dead. Lizzie didn't want to take that chance, though, and pressed her fingers to the side of his neck, searching for a pulse.

“Dead,” she pronounced.

“We have to leave these,” Will said, holding out his swatter. “Evidence. Good thing they were all stolen.”

“And our clothes,” Mag said, looking down. She and Will had a fair amount of the guard's blood on them—Lizzie had managed to avoid all but a few drops.

“Shirts inside-out,” Will said, shrugging out of his to flip it. “Then we burn them as soon as we get a chance. And next time, we don't wear white, maybe?”

Mag didn't realize how badly her hands were shaking until she tried to peel off her own shirt. Adrenaline coursed through her, causing her to fumble. Was she excited or terrified? She didn't even know.

Will kept raking his fingers through his hair. It was getting long, skimming his earlobes—their mother would make him cut it soon. Mag recognized the gesture, though—he was anxious, too.

And Lizzie was, too. She had stood up and begun pacing, tapping her fingers against her thighs.

“We have to get back inside the Wall,” Mag said, finally managing to flip her shirt inside-out and pull it back over her head. “Quick, before another guard comes by.”

They moved faster than was probably advisable, but none of them cared. They were too terrified of being caught to be careful anymore. Fortunately, they managed to get to the hole in the Wall and push through the bookcase without drawing attention to themselves. Once they'd shoved the bookcase back into place and slunk off behind the reservoir did they finally stop to catch their breath.

“We did it. We actually did it,” Mag breathed.

“We're actually raiders now,” Lizzie said.

“Not quite yet,” Will said, “but the hard part is over. The first kill, it's done. It'll get easier from here.” He and Lizzie exchanged glances before looking back at Mag.

She flashed back to the near-surgical precision with which Lizzie had wielded her switchblade. Something about the skill, the precision resonated with her. “The Operators. What do you think? As a name?”

“I feel like we should drink to that,” Will said. He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a flask. “I meant for us to drink it out in the Fens, but this will do.”

“What is it?” Lizzie asked, taking the offered flask.

“Mother's whiskey, not that she'll notice it's missing,” Will said.

Lizzie took a swallow, pulled a face, and handed the flask to Mag. “To the Operators.”

“To the Operators,” Mag echoed, tilting the flask into her mouth. The whiskey burned going down, but she kept it down despite a slight wave of nausea. She passed the flask back to Will, who held it up.

“To the Operators,” he pronounced, and knocked back the rest of the flask.

Which ended up being a mistake, since he ended up choking on it and coughing most of it back up. As Mag and Lizzie dissolved into laughter at him, Mag thought that this, right now, was perfect. She had her brother and her best friend right here with her—it was all she needed.

_And on this night, the Operators were born._

* * *

_Diamond City Jail, 2269._

“Magdalene Black, got a holotape for you.”

Mags scowled and went to the bars. She snatched the holotape out of the guard's hand and snapped, “It's _Mags_. Not _Magdalene_. Just Mags.”

The guard shrugged. “I gotta call you what the log calls you, and in there, you're Magdalene.”

Mags knew that was a lie—he was antagonizing her. She stalked back to the bench where William and Lizzie were still sitting. Four days now they'd been waiting in this hellhole, waiting for some word from their parents—and it looked like they finally had their response. The holotape in Mags's hands was labeled _Maggy, It's Your Mother_.

If there was one thing Mags hated being called more than Magdalene, it was Maggy.

The Mags thing was new—she'd only picked it up about a year ago. William had called her that as a bit of an affectionate nickname, and she liked it better than Mag, if only because it was William's. William had also never been fond of their mother's nickname for him. Bill was an objectively terrible name but shortly before they'd turned fourteen, he decided he wanted to be called William as opposed to Will, and Mags and Lizzie agreed. Mags still called him Will from time to time, but only when no one else was around. That was a name only she was allowed to use for him.

None of that stopped their mother from persisting in calling them Maggy and Bill, though.

“It's from Mother,” Mags said, holding up the holotape. There was a holotape player in the cell, so she popped tape into the player.

“ _Maggy, it's your mother. I want you to know your father and I... we take no pleasure in this decision. But at this point, we don't have a choice. You and Bill have dragged the Black name through the muck for the last time. What they say the two of you and that Wyath girl did to those classmates of yours... True or not, defending you both again and again, it's gotten to the point we can barely do business in this town anymore. You two have cost us... so much. And are you repentant? Are you sorry? Of course not. Well, we are through defending you. You're going to accept the exile the town demands. You're going to leave Diamond City for good. And you will never,_ ever _see another cap from your father or I again. You had every chance in the world to make this right, Maggy. Well, we are done giving you chances.”_

Mags very nearly smashed the holotape player on the floor. William's hands were balled into fists on his thighs, and his whole body seemed to be shaking with rage. Lizzie had gotten up from the bench and begun staring through the bars, but she, too, was trembling.

Mags was acutely aware of every scar on her body—crisscrossing her back, her legs, the backs of her arms—and she could tell from the expression on William's face that he could feel them, too. Nearly sixteen years of living under that woman, enduring the beatings and the feigned happy home life, and now she was denying them what was rightfully theirs? No. They wouldn't have it.

“That money is ours,” Mags breathed.

“We'll get it,” William said.

Lizzie turned to face them, her face curiously blank. “Play it again, Mags.”

It wasn't often Lizzie gave an order like that, but when she did, she had a good reason. Mags hit play again, and her mother's voice filled the holding cell again. _“Maggy, it's your mother...”_

“We've got three days before they let us out,” Lizzie murmured, crossing back to them. “You up for planning some murder and robbery?”

Mags immediately understood, and so did William. Mags smiled, relaxing slightly.

They'd gotten away clean with the murder of the Diamond City guard four years ago. She and William had burned their clothes at the first opportunity, and while she got the impression that their mother suspected (and the whole town found out within a few days that a guard had been murdered), no one could prove anything. The guards outside began patrolling in pairs for a month or two afterward, as if expecting another attack—they most likely suspected raiders or Gunners—but after long enough without another murder, they dropped back down to patrolling alone. Not that they would attempt another attack on them again, anyway. The intervening years had made Mags realize how foolish they were and how lucky they'd been to get away with it—that and their second murder, another one that couldn't be traced back to them, of one of the cleaners, a woman named Annette—but the goal had been achieved. Their first kill was done, and they moved on to more important things.

Like what they were currently in jail for.

Lizzie had grown into quite the chemist. She'd built some small bombs a few weeks ago and had been itching to try them out. Mags and William had been hoping for a little chaos lately, anyway, and both of them were eager to see just what Lizzie's explosives could accomplish, so they creeped into their classroom late one night to rig it up with Lizzie's bombs. Of course, they hadn't counted on being caught by Becky Cherishe, one of their classmates, so they knocked her out and tied her to a chair in a far corner before she could wake up, and then left her there. In the morning, just as the first of their classmates started filing in, the bombs exploded.

No one had died... right away. Most of their classmates went to Doc Crocker for treatment, including Becky. Once she was conscious again, she ratted them out, saying she'd seen “those Black twins and that Wyath girl” sneaking into the school and tried to go stop them.

Maybe they would have been forgiven if Becky hadn't died from the burns and smoke inhalation the next day, but it didn't matter because as soon as Becky had dropped their names, Diamond City security was at their doors to take them into custody.

This wasn't a new occurrence for any of them—they'd landed in the Diamond City holding cell nearly a dozen times by now, mostly for petty theft and that one time they'd assaulted a few of their classmates with some swatters when they were thirteen—but this was by far the worst thing they'd ever gotten nailed for. They were used to the procedure, being separated and questioned, and by now they weren't intimidated by the guards and trusted each other so completely that they knew they wouldn't rat each other out, so their stories all matched, all of them freely admitting their guilt. Of course, that was before Becky died.

They hadn't counted on that.

Once word came in that Becky had died, Mags knew they were in deep shit. Still, their parents had gotten them out of jail before, so she had no reason to suspect this wouldn't be any different. Except this holotape from their mother proved otherwise.

Diamond City didn't use capital punishment—they just exiled dangerous adult lawbreakers. Technically, Mags and William were still minors, not turning sixteen until August, but Lizzie had just turned sixteen two weeks ago, and in the eyes of the city, a few months didn't make much difference when a girl had died.

Had they brought this on themselves? Of course. But if Mags and William had to choose between a holding cell and their mother's house, they'd choose the holding cell every time. At least they didn't get beaten in jail.

So they hammered out their plan, speaking in whispers under the cover of the Black matriarch's holotape for three days, until they had every detail perfected. It would take a few weeks to implement everything, but Mags had waited nearly sixteen years for her freedom. She could wait a bit longer. She had learned patience from her time in jail and at home, if nothing else.

 

“Elizabeth Samantha Wyath, William Thomas Black, Magdalene Elaine Black, you have been found guilty of blowing up a portion of the Diamond City Schoolhouse and causing the death of Miss Rebecca Cherishe,” Mayor Roberts intoned. It was three days later, and the three of them were on the stand near the Wall. The whole town had come out to see the sentencing, especially the very angry parents of their classmates and their own parents.

_Just get on with it,_ Mags thought, scratching the inside of her wrist where the handcuffs bit into it. All three of them had been cuffed, of course. Next to her, William was perfectly still, his back straight, his face frozen in an expression of boredom.

“For these crimes,” the mayor went on, addressing them as well as the rest of the town, “you are hereby sentenced to exile from Diamond City for the rest of your days. Do any of you have anything to say?”

Mags and Lizzie remained mute, but William had two words: “Get fucked.” Lizzie giggled.

One of the Diamond City guards bashed the back of William's head with the butt of his swatter, not hard enough to knock him out but with enough force to drop William to his knees with a groan. Mags whirled around, rage filling her immediately, and grabbed the guard by his helmet.

“You touched him, you die,” she growled, already trying to wrestle him to the ground. She had some vague idea of choking him to death with the chain of her handcuffs or ripping him apart with her bare hands—she didn't really know which. She was just acting on instinct. A moment later, another swatter was across her throat, another guard dragging her back as William slowly got back to his feet.

“Animals,” Roberts spat. “Take them out of the city.”

Lizzie's parents stood a good distance from Mags and William's parents, and Mags knew why—the Wyaths blamed Mags and William for “corrupting” their daughter, while Mags and William's parents blamed the Wyaths for letting Lizzie “run wild.” Their families hated each other, which didn't make a bit of difference to them. The Wyaths looked almost sad to see Lizzie go, but they weren't going to try to protest. The town had made its decision. The Blacks, for their part, were both stony-faced, looking a little relieved, if Mags was reading their expressions right. _You think you've gotten rid of us. You're wrong, though. Just you wait to see what we've got in store for you._

The guards marched them around the bases to the gates and led them through. Out in the Fens, they were uncuffed one by one. And then, as soon as the guards were back inside, the gates slammed shut behind them.

“God fucking—” The moment the doors were closed, William's expression twisted and his hand went to the back of his head.

“Let me see,” Mags said. She spread his hair and gently felt for the rising bump on the back of his head. As her fingertips found it, he hissed in pain, and she muttered, “He'll die for this.” She took a step back and looked around.

An outside patrol of the Diamond City guard was passing by. He looked at them but said nothing. He knew who they were, knew they'd been exiled. Aside from the guard, the streets were empty.

“We have to find someplace to stay for the time being,” Lizzie said sagely. “We won't survive out here for long.”

“Too bad they confiscated our weapons,” Mags muttered. Unarmed and without any kind of armor, they were especially vulnerable.

“Hardware Town. I think there's weapons around there,” William said.

“And there's probably steel there to create armor,” Lizzie said.

Mags nodded. “Hardware Town it is, then.”

They knew where it was from listening to Abbott talk about it enough. His directions weren't great, but they managed to find it. Diamond City guards didn't patrol this far away from the city, which suited them just fine, but they ran into another, albeit small, problem.

“Locked,” Mags muttered, trying the handle.

William crouched in front of the door. “Bobby pin, screwdriver,” he said, holding out his hands.

Mags pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and Lizzie grabbed a screwdriver from a few feet away. William bent the pin out and stuck it and the tip of the screwdriver into the lock. After a few moments of fumbling, the lock clicked and the door swung open.

Mags patted his shoulder. “Glad that blow didn't kill off any important brain cells.”

William chuckled and got to his feet. “After you.”

Inside, they found plenty of steel to start crafting some makeshift armor. Lizzie got to work on the welding at the workbench while Mags and William scoured the back room for weapons. They found a swatter and some pipe rifles, along with one serviceable 10mm handgun and some ammo.

“This will work,” William said, and he started modifying them to make them more powerful.

Mags took the swatter and started a sweep of the whole building.

“Hardware Town” was a bit of a misnomer—back in the pre-war days, it had been a store, not a town. She didn't know how it had gotten the name “Hardware Town,” but she guessed that it had once had enough people living in it to constitute calling it a town. Now, however, scavvers had mostly picked it clean, and the only people who ever came out here were on a mission for green paint for the Wall.

She pocketed the few chems that were still lying around and emptied the first-aid kits of their stimpaks and purified water. William probably didn't need a stimpak, but if he was still in pain, some Med-X might help. Aside from them, though, the building seemed to be clean. There was a locked safe upstairs and Mags made a mental note to have William try his hand at picking that lock, too. Once she'd cleaned out all the drawers of their limited caps and ammo and a few pieces of junk that might help William and Lizzie in their crafting, she headed back down to see how they were doing.

“...can't believe this is actually happening,” Lizzie was saying. Mags paused just outside the doorway, listening closely. It wasn't that she didn't trust them—far from it. She just realized that the two of them never got any time to talk without her. She wondered... Well, they _were_ teenagers, after all. William had never mentioned any feelings besides platonic toward Lizzie, nor had Lizzie ever expressed any kind of romantic intentions toward William, but maybe... what if they liked each other and she'd never picked up on that?

“Yeah, it still seems like a dream,” William said. “We talked about it for years, planned for it, but now...”

“Don't tell me you regret it.”

“Of course not. What would I have amounted to, living in Diamond City all my life? A merchant, like my parents? Dying miserable like them? Fuck that.”

Lizzie laughed softly. “Agreed. I can't imagine what I would have become, were we to stay there. Maybe I could have sold explosives to the Rodriguezes for them to sell to travelers, but what would be the point? None of us would be happy living there. And Mags... can you even imagine? Trying to fill your mother's shoes?”

William exhaled sharply. “Don't let her hear you saying that. Mags would never have been happy with that life. I know her too well for that. No... we were born to be raiders. I know it.”

“Right? If not for this, then what? No, I'm glad. Once we get a gang behind us, Mags will be a great leader. We'll show those Diamond City snobs we don't need them.”

“The sooner, the better. I've been itching for a fight for years. If our parents hadn't been so goddamn _respectable_ , if we didn't have to worry about being such well-behaved little dolls, we probably would have run away years ago.”

“I know.” Lizzie sighed. “I had half a mind to run away, too, but I wasn't just going to leave you and Mags behind. We have to stick together. But I don't think...” Her voice trailed off for a moment, and Mags leaned in closer to hear. “I don't think I'm ever going to be as important to her as you.”

_I knew it,_ Mags thought, her heart skipping a beat. What would she do if Lizzie and William ended up together? It felt _wrong_ somehow, but... well, if Lizzie made him happy, then did she really have a right to intrude on them? After all, this was all for them—and her, but if either of them had ever expressed any desire to go back on their plan, she would have acquiesced. She wanted them both to be happy.

“We've been together since before we were born,” William said quietly. “You can't blame her for that. Besides, you're still just as much a part of this as we are. This isn't just about her, or me. It's about all of us. She wouldn't have you along with it if you weren't important to her. To both of us.”

Mags's head was spinning. She must have misunderstood—Lizzie was feeling left out? And maybe William liked Lizzie but not the other way around? What was going on?

“I know _that_ ,” Lizzie said, and Mags could practically hear the smile in her voice. “But... well, you've seen how she gets. Whenever someone hurts you, she flies into an uncontrollable rage. I'm not saying it's a bad thing—in fact, I actually quite admire that spark of passion in her. It's what makes her such an effective leader. She cares. I'm just saying, she doesn't act that way whenever _I_ take a punch.”

“To be fair, I take considerably more than either of you, and she also had to witness our mother beating me bloody more times than I can count.”

“But you don't act that way whenever _she_ takes a punch, either.”

“No, I suppose not. But I think that's because I know she's stronger. She can take it. She's been plotting revenge for years now. I think we all know that she's stronger. Without us, she can still be Mags Black, Operator leader and raider boss. But without her... well, we're nothing. Without her, we'd still be stuck in Diamond City, leading boring lives.”

“She didn't say that to you, did she?”

“Of course not. I don't think she's even fully aware of it herself. She senses it, but not how deep it goes. So she gets over-protective because she knows that, between the two of us, I'm weaker.”

Mags pressed her hand to her mouth and bit down on her knuckles, blinking back tears. William had it all backwards— _she_ was the weak one. She only lashed out, plotting revenge, _because_ she was weak—because without him, without both of them, she'd be lost. _They_ didn't need _her_ , _she_ needed _them_. Both of them, Lizzie included. Of course, neither of them realized it.

Fortunately for her, neither of them seemed to want to bail on her, which suited her just fine. She took a few moments to collect herself and then strolled into the front room with what was probably excessive casualness.

“Well, there's no one else here, but I did find some stimpaks and chems, and a few caps,” she said. She dumped her finds on the counter. “Two inhalers of Jet, a syringe of Med-X, and three shots of Psycho. Two stimpaks, some purified water, six .38 rounds, and eight caps. And a brahmin hide,” she added, handing the hide over to Lizzie.

“Excellent. I managed to modify some of this frankly shitty armor. It's not great, but it's better than nothing. I have three leather chest pieces—that's the most important—two metal arms, and with this hide, I can probably craft a couple of leather leg pieces. We won't need complete sets for a few more weeks, though, and I'm certain we can scrounge up more if we hunt around and maybe kill a few scavvers.”

“And _I_ was able to improve the barrels on these pipe rifles and added glow sights to them. Didn't have enough materials to do much to the ten-mil except add a comfort grip. Still, made some decent headway. It'll be better once I find some halfway decent firearms to work with, though.”

“Good.” Mags hopped up onto the counter and pulled one of the chest pieces over her head. “Next order of business should be finding some food, and maybe some sleeping bags. There's rooms upstairs we can sleep in—I don't know about you, but I'm not keen on sleeping somewhere we could end up with guns on us at any moment. Here, though, is as good a place as any to call our base of operations, at least until we get to implement the next phase of our plan.” She cocked her head to the side. “By the way, William, there's a safe upstairs. See if you can pick the lock on it—I'm interested to see what's inside it.”

“Sure.”

“We shouldn't all go traipsing through the Fens,” Lizzie said. “Someone should stay here and guard the building.”

“Almost makes me wish we had a fourth person,” Mags muttered. “I don't like the idea of one of us staying behind and getting overwhelmed by another raider gang.”

They were all quiet for a moment. What would they do if one of them _was_ killed? William had been right when he said that this was about all of them, not just one or two. When Mags saw the future of the Operators, she saw all of them, not just her and William or her and Lizzie or even just William and Lizzie. If one of them was killed, the Operators would never get off the ground. It would only work with all of them.

“We'll just have to take that chance. That, or we all go. There's no other way around it,” William said. “But if we do that, we risk losing this place.”

Mags looked up at the ceiling, thinking hard. She'd already decided that she would be one of the two to go scavenging, and she wanted William with her, but Lizzie was right—she favored William, and even though he was her brother and it was understandable, it still wasn't fair. Besides, William was bigger. He could guard this place alone. “We can't have that,” she said. “Okay. Lizzie, you and I will scavenge for supplies. William, stay back and guard. I don't like it, but it's the best choice we have.”

Both of them looked slightly surprised, but neither of them protested, for which Mags was grateful.

They all finished pulling their new pieces of armor on and Mags and Lizzie grabbed the pipe rifles. William kept the handgun and the swatter—the ten-mil was more durable for close-range if it came down to it, and he could swing the swatter the hardest.

“We'll be back in a couple of hours,” Mags said, leading Lizzie out into the Fens.

 

“Mother, it's Mags.” Mags paused for a moment, looking at William and Lizzie. “Thank you so much for your tape. It kept William, Lizzie, and I _very_ entertained during our time in the holding cell. We found the part about refusing us our inheritance particularly amusing. Because that money is ours. Years we spent under your thumb. Trying to be the perfect little dolls you always wanted. Both have the scars to prove it. So if you think we didn't earn every cap that's due to us, then you're even dumber than I thought. We're coming for those caps. And there's nothing you can do to stop us.” She hit stop and ejected the tape from the recorder they'd scrounged up from the caravan they'd managed to hit their second day out. “First thing tomorrow, we'll send it in with a trader. Agreed?”

William and Lizzie both nodded. Mags twirled the tape between her fingers until Lizzie snatched it out of her hand. “I'll hold onto it so you don't break it,” she said, stuffing the tape into her pocket.

William expected Mags to demand it back, but she didn't. She just nodded slowly. “That's fine. You're right. I was probably going to end up fidgeting with it until I broke it.” Mags sighed. “Is anyone else hungry?”

As if on cue, William's stomach growled, and Mags and Lizzie laughed. William being hungry wasn't news to any of them, though—he was fifteen and his long, lanky limbs were only just now beginning to fill out, so his appetite always ran wild. If they weren't careful, he might end up eating everything they had stashed away.

After a wholly unsatisfying dinner of Blamco Mac and Cheese washed down with some water and whiskey, Lizzie took up a pipe rifle and took up the post near the front door.

Their first night, they'd discovered a rear entrance and a door in the cellar leading out, and they'd made short work of chaining them both up from the inside. Now the only way in was through the front door, unless someone wanted to just blow up the whole building. They hoped that wouldn't happen, though. It would kind of put a damper on all their plans.

 

William was an odd combination of bored and anxious. He paced the front room of Hardware Town, ears open for any sound that would signal a sudden attack.

Mags and Lizzie were upstairs sleeping. They'd already been here for nearly two weeks already, and tomorrow they would implement the next phase of their plan.

It was too early to expect Mags up, he knew—he'd just begun his watch fifteen minutes ago. Still, the minutes seemed to drag by as he waited. _Tomorrow._ He wondered if Mags or Lizzie were sleeping or if they were lying awake, wondering what tomorrow had in store.

He wished they'd gotten some time to pack some extra things from home, too, but that's what a Diamond City exile was like. It may not officially have been a death sentence, but unless you were well-connected outside the city or managed to survive the trip to Goodneighbor, most folks who were exiled died after less than a week.

The three of them weren't meant to survive.

He was fairly certain that the entire city expected them to die soon. Hell, maybe the city thought they were already dead, but they weren't. He tightened his grip on the swatter. No, they'd thrive out here. They always expected to be cast out of the city at some point—it was part of the plan. Their mother denying them their inheritance _wasn't_ part of the plan, but they had a remedy for the situation.

His stomach growled. “Shut up,” he muttered at it. Of course, it didn't listen to him. He hated being hungry all the time. The fitful sleep, he could stand. The dull, persistent headache and empty stomach, though? No, it was intolerable. _One more night_ , he told himself. One more night, and they'd be flush with caps and they could haul all their things over to Goodneighbor and hole up for a few days.

And after that, they would get themselves armed up properly and start taking out raider gangs—and starting their own.

He gave the swatter a few experimental swings. He'd been able to plate it with aluminum, improving its damage, and he rather liked the heft of it. It knocked the heads of a few mannequins right off with one blow. Using it on a person wouldn't yield exactly the same results, but the attempt would be fun.

William paced the floor for another ten minutes before his eyes fell on the machete they'd found in the Commons a few days ago. It was already sharp, but he was pretty sure he could modify it, too. Mags had this idea of cutting off their mother's hands—a symbolic gesture, a final reassurance that she couldn't hurt them anymore—and any improvement might make the whole process easier. So he set down the swatter next to the weapons workbench and picked up the machete.

By the time Mags came downstairs to take over the watch for him, he'd managed to give the machete serrated teeth, making the hacking easier.

“Looks good,” Mags said, hopping up onto the counter and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“I know you have a mind to enjoy yourself tomorrow, but we still shouldn't take long,” William said, examining the blade. He blew away the metal shavings and gave the machete a quick swing. “Try that.”

Standing up, Mags took the machete and tossed it from hand to hand for a moment. Suddenly, her grip tightened and she slammed the machete into the counter. It sank three inches into the wood and she grinned. “Excellent. One quick chop and it should be done.” She wrenched the machete out of the counter (she had to put her foot against it to get enough leverage) and set it down. “Thanks. Get some sleep. Tomorrow will require all of our focus.”

“You don't have to tell me twice.” He started past her, paused, and then impulsively pulled her into a hug.

“I don't know what's more terrifying,” she whispered in his ear. “Knowing that one of us could die tomorrow, or _all_ of us could.”

“You know which is worse,” William said. The idea that one or two of them would have to try to go on without someone was far more horrifying. _If we go out, we go out together._

“Yeah, I know.” Mags chuckled and William finally let her go. He'd been with his sister for nearly sixteen years—longer, if you counted before they were born—and with Lizzie for twelve. One of them without the other two was unimaginable. “So we'll all just have to ensure we're not killed.” She offered up a reassuring smile. “Get some sleep, Will.”

William smiled back. “Good night, Mag.” He gave her another hug, quick this time, before shuffling upstairs and flopping into the sleeping bag next to Lizzie, who was fortunately fast asleep. Despite the anxiety twisting in his stomach, stabbing like the hunger, he was able to fall asleep quickly. His last conscious thought was hoping they'd all see their next birthdays.

 

Precision timing was crucial to their plan. They huddled behind a pile of rubble within sprinting distance of the hole in the Wall and waited. Three minutes passed before a Diamond City guard patrolled past them, paused, lifted his mask to scratch his nose, swung his head left and right, and continued on.

Mags tensed up. “That's the one that hit you,” she hissed to William.

“How can you tell?”

“The tattoo on his arm,” she said. “And I recognize him from trying to garrote him.”

William squinted. There did appear to be a dark splotch on his arm that he would have mistaken for a smudge of dirt if he wasn't paying attention.

“You can't kill him now,” Lizzie said. “We don't have time.”

“I know that. He'll get his, though.” Mags waited. “Okay, go, go, go!” She led the charge to the Wall, all three of them slamming against it at the same time. She nudged open the bookcase, stuck her head inside, then motioned to William and Lizzie before disappearing inside. William and Lizzie followed her, clinging to the shadow cast by the Wall inside, weapons up. Mags had the machete, William had the swatter, and Lizzie had a pipe rifle and the 10-mil stuck in her belt.

They slunk around the perimeter of the Wall until they were at the opposite side of town as their parents' homes. Lizzie dropped her bag, pulled out the bomb she'd crafted just for this purpose, set the timer, and ran. “Three minutes!” she breathed, hurrying back the way they'd come.

Mags and William dashed behind her, hiding as best they could—they were now officially on a time schedule, and they couldn't afford to be as discreet as they wanted. Fortunately for them, Diamond City security was notoriously lax, even after they'd blown up their classroom, so they made it to the Stands in seconds to spare.

William was glad because he got to actually witness the explosion. It was big and loud, attracting all the guards—as they planned—but it wouldn't actually cause any structural damage to the Wall, just burn at the paint. And it would probably take so long to put out that the three of them would be able to abscond before anyone knew they were there.

Anyone still living, anyway.

Taking advantage of the lack of security, they hurried up to the Blacks' residence. Mags and William had had their keys confiscated by security, but William was able to pick the lock easily. The door swung open, and to William's relief, both their mother and father were there, looking aghast.

“M-Maggy? _Bill?_ ” their mother said, standing up from the kitchen table. “What are you—? _Get out!_ ”

Lizzie slammed the door shut behind them.

“We will, Mother,” Mags said coolly, swinging her machete threateningly. William rose from his crouch and followed her into the kitchen. “Just have some business to take care of first.”

“Are—are you _threatening_ us?” Evelyn demanded, looking from Mags to William, who had paused behind their father.

“What do you think?” William said. He swung his swatter into the side of Franklin's head with all his might, knocking him out of his chair and sending him sprawling to the floor and slamming the cutlery off the table.

Evelyn started to scream—in terror or for help, William wasn't sure which—but she'd barely begun when Mags swung the machete, sinking the blade into Evelyn's throat. The scream abruptly cut off—along with most of her head—but she was still alive, although barely.

William stopped paying attention to Mags, more focused now on making sure his father was properly beaten to death. _Fuck you_ , he wanted to scream, would have if he wasn't focused on not drawing attention, _you let her beat us for_ years _and you never lifted a fucking hand to stop her, your own fucking children, you're just as guilty, burn in Hell—_

“William.” There was a dark-skinned hand on his arm. He looked up at Lizzie. “His brain is paste. You can probably stop.”

She was right. Bits of skull and brain matter were seeping into the floorboards. There wasn't much left of his head aside from some teeth strewn around the stump above his shoulders. William stooped down to wipe the swatter off on his father's clothes and then he went around to the other side of the table, where Mags was sitting on their mother's chest.

“You know, Mother, in a way, you're lucky. If I had my way, I'd drag this out as long as I could. The end I'll give you is, quite honestly, a mercy compared to what you deserve for what you've done to William and me. In fact—”

She was cut off when Evelyn's arm shot out, something glinting in her hand, slashing across Mags's face. A moment later, Mags was reeling backward, her hand clapped over her left eye and blood already dripping down her face, and William bashed the handle of the swatter into their mother's face.

A bloody knife clattered to the floor as Evelyn blinked, stunned, her eyes unfocused.

“Fuck!” Mags glared through her open eye, her left hand still pressed to her face. “You fucking—” Shaking with fury, she slapped Evelyn as hard as she could. She then let a quick huff and then squared her shoulders. “Hold this for me, William, dear, would you?” she said lightly, extending her mother's arm straight up. “Lizzie, can you go into our parents' room and locate those caps?”

“Already got about five thousand here,” Lizzie said, dropping the bag on the floor in front of the door and going back for the next bag.

William held his mother's hand up and Mags went to work sawing it off. Evelyn was still gasping, but she couldn't scream. “Now you won't _ever_ lay a hand on my brother or me again, you foul bitch,” Mags said, her tone pleasant and conversational. “And this all could have been avoided if you'd just given us our inheritance.” There was a tearing sound and Evelyn's hand came free from her arm. “There. Thank you, William, I'll take that.” Mags took the hand and put the palm against her chin, as if in thought. “You know, I think we should give this trophy a place of honor in the future headquarters of the Operators. What do you think, William?”

“Honor?” William spat, directly in his mother's face. “Stick it in a fridge.”

Mags grinned. “Much better idea.” She got to her feet, cut a bit of their mother's dress off to wrap the hand in, and then, with one last swing of the machete, killed their mother. “Rest in pieces, bitch.” She wiped at the blood still streaming down her face with her sleeve and spat on Evelyn as well.

“Touching,” Lizzie said from the door. “We need to go.”

Mags and William turned to look at her, and William felt a grin spread across his own face. “I guess you liked that idea, huh?”

Lizzie had taken a piece of charcoal and drawn on the back of the door. It was something William had sketched out a few times over the last week, a heart centered in a crosshairs, something he thought might make a good logo for the Operators.

“I'm rather fond of it,” Lizzie said, wiping charcoal from her hands.

“Me, too. It's missing something, though,” Mags said. She dipped her finger in Evelyn's blood and pressed it to the middle of the heart, letting the blood drip down.

William and Lizzie exchanged looks, and both of them followed suit, getting a fingertip covered in blood and pressing it to the heart.

“Art. Absolute art,” Mags said, taking a step forward. “But you're right—we need to go, now.”

Each of them hefted a bag of caps over their shoulder and hurried out of the house.

The fire was still raging on the other side of town, so if anyone noticed them slinking to the bookcase, they didn't say anything. Their going was a little slower now, as encumbered as they were by the caps, but William figured this was a good problem to have. They managed to slip out through the bookcase and were nearly to the pile of rubble when they heard a voice call after them.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?”

They turned. Before William could stop her, Mags dropped her bag of caps, sprinted toward the guard, and brought the machete down hard. As the guard sank to his knees, blood pouring out of the gash in his skull, William saw the same splotch on arm as before—the exact same guard.

“I told you, you'd die,” Mags said, wrenching the now thoroughly blood-soaked machete out of the guard's head. “Shouldn't have fucked with my brother.” She flicked the blood off the machete, dashed back to William and Lizzie, hoisted the caps over her shoulder, and started back off toward Hardware Town. “Let's go.”

 

“What do you think?” Mags asked as Lizzie did her best to clean up the slash on her face.

“Missed your eye, fortunately— _un_ fortunately, those perfect eyebrows of yours are ruined.”

“Definitely leaving a scar,” William said.

Lizzie shook her head with exaggerated sadness. “I'm sorry—you're grotesque now. It looks like William is now the true face of the Operators. Look at him—cheekbones you could cut glass with.”

Mags snorted with laughter as Lizzie taped a bandage over her eyebrow. “That's fine. No one's going to follow a raider boss without any scars. At least now I look the part.” They all knew Lizzie was joking, of course. One scar wouldn't be enough to turn her hideous. She'd gotten lucky—all of them had, actually. All three of them were attractive, but that was only a benefit. At this point, between their looks and their caps, they'd pretty much balanced the scales.

They left a lot in Hardware Town—the sleeping bags, most of the junk they'd accumulated, their bloodstained clothes. All they really needed was their weapons and their caps, and they only needed the weapons for their trip over to Goodneighbor. They'd sell them once they got to the town and get better guns and armor.

The clerk at the front desk of the Hotel Rexford looked surprised to see three teenagers with bulging duffel bags of caps and bloodied weapons stroll in, but when Mags counted out five hundred caps and said, “Room for a week,” they received a key without a word of protest.

They headed up to their new room, locked the door, and collectively let out a sigh of relief.

William flopped backwards on to the bed, Mags sank to the floor, and Lizzie collapsed into the armchair. “Holy shit,” Mags murmured. “We actually pulled it off!”

It felt like a dream to William, but a dream he didn't want to wake up from. He was exhausted, having spent the last three hours running on adrenaline. But now that it was really over, they'd succeeded, the sheer ridiculousness of what they'd done finally sank in.

Seventeen days ago, they'd found out that they wouldn't be receiving their inheritance. Fourteen days ago, they'd been cast out of Diamond City. Today, they'd murdered their parents, taken back their inheritance, and gotten themselves set up for success. They were finally free.

“I don't know about you two, but I'm looking forward to sleeping for a full eight hours tonight,” Lizzie said, stretching and popping her back.

“That's pretty high on my list of priorities, too,” William said with a yawn.

Mags kicked off her shoes and rolled onto the bed next to William. “All this murder has made me exhausted.”

Lizzie took a running leap and dived onto the bed. William rolled to the side in time to avoid being hit in the eye with her elbow, but Mags nearly fell off. Laughing, she clung to the edge and Lizzie threw an arm around her waist to pull her back up.

There was silence for a few moments. William tossed a blanket over the three of them and put his arm around Lizzie, sandwiching her between himself and Mags.

“Tomorrow,” he heard Mags murmur, “we get ourselves outfitted like real raiders.”

“Maybe not like _real_ raiders,” Lizzie said. “We can look better than them. We'll murder, but with style.”

William chuckled. He agreed with Lizzie—he liked how raiders accomplished their goals, but not how they dressed. No, they'd be the classiest-looking raiders in the Commonwealth.

* * *

_Andrew Station, 2277._

They'd been bouncing around the Commonwealth for about two years now. Before that, they'd blown lesser raider gangs out of their various hideouts throughout the Fens and the Commons, gathering members to the Operators. The first few who joined up were young, like them—not one of them older than nineteen. Lizzie could tell that, at first, they all seemed to be joining out of convenience. Their new members didn't really think that Mags, William, and Lizzie would last too long. But as six months turned into a year turned into two turned into five and longer, the new Operators realized as they started in hauling in caps, upgrading weapons and armor, taking bigger and more important positions, that the three were not to be underestimated.

Lizzie was constantly tinkering, crafting custom armor for everyone, supplying the crew with Molotov cocktails and grenades, as well as working on a few projects of her own. Mags was the one who decided where to hit and how to attack, and anyone who dared defy her tasted William's swatter. The Operators figured out pretty quickly who was really in charge of the gang.

That “take no shit” attitude was what started attracting stronger raiders to join their ranks. By the time the three of them came into their twenties, their gang was over fifty strong. Lizzie attributed this to several factors: firstly, Mags was a remarkable tactician who knew exactly what kind of resources they had, what they needed, and how to get what they needed; second, thanks to the caps so helpfully provided by the deceased Blacks, their new members got a larger take of each score than they would have through a different raider gang; thirdly, unlike most other raider gangs where you couldn't tell one person's crew from another, the Operators stood out with their custom armor and weapons and the surprisingly durable clothes they wore, suits and skirts and dresses that had been modified with their own armor; fourthly, considering that they as a whole were more concerned with caps than flat-out murder (although they were not above murder—they did it with skill and discretion), the gang attracted people who were of that mentality as well; and fifthly (and most importantly, at least in Lizzie's mind), Mags and William set themselves apart from other gang leaders by leading from the front, both in battle and out. They all worked together well, and the other members saw how the Blacks were willing to bleed for their own gang and they responded to that. In that sense, though, Lizzie was different from them. She was no stranger to combat, of course, but her forte was more behind the scenes as she worked on bigger and better projects.

Another important factor in the gang was the intra-gang issues that came up as inevitable personality clashes came to a head, but William was good at taking care of them before they escalated into something uncontrollable. Whether it was because William was just an excellent mediator or if most of the Operators remembered him beating someone bloody for a comment about Lizzie, she couldn't say, but she didn't much care. The point was that it worked.

They were currently holed up in Andrew Station. They'd been there for about three weeks, and they'd already defended their position against four separate attacks from other gangs. This and Revere were the two most well-fortified outposts they'd ever had, and Lizzie was comfortable underground with solid concrete around her. The twins seemed anxious, though—William was a bit claustrophobic, causing him to spend more time outside, patrolling the perimeter in the open, worrying Mags (not that she showed it—the only reason Lizzie could tell was because she knew what Mags was like when she was nervous).

Lizzie knew there was nothing she could say to assuage her concerns, so she just sat next to Mags in front of the fire, watching the rest of their gang relax for the evening.

A few of them were already asleep—well, passed out was more likely, judging by the bottles next to them—some of them were playing checkers with caps, and there seemed to be two or three couples “canoodling” (as Lizzie's mother would have said) in various darkened corners. Mags didn't care about that—she was of the opinion that as long as people weren't distracting each other and causing unnecessary drama, they were all adults and would be expected to behave as such.

Sometimes, Lizzie still couldn't believe how far they'd come from their days as children. When she was ten, she'd never expected to live anywhere but Diamond City, or that Mags and William would be the ones to lead them out. True, she herself had had a fair amount to do with it and she was grateful they were gone, but her parents had told her that the Black twins would lead her to trouble. She hadn't cared. They were her only friends, the only ones who had seemed interested in all of her little childish experiments. Hell, they had _encouraged_ her, which was more than she could say for her parents. So maybe at first her friendship with them was one-sided, but they'd been through so much together at this point that it was impossible not to be close with them. After twenty years of friendship, they discussed everything, they had no secrets from each other—well, Lizzie had _one_ , but she was waiting for the right moment—they had a special connection that came from committing multiple homicides together. Lizzie was fond of referring to them in her head as “my loves,” which fit since Mags and William both called the other two “love” from time to time. Lizzie would never admit it, but she always felt special when one of them called her that—it reminded her that their bond was something stronger than common friendship.

“How long will we be staying here?” Lizzie asked Mags quietly in an effort to distract her.

“As long as it's feasible. We could probably take Revere back—we have the people for it. But...” Mags's voice trailed off, but Lizzie knew what she wasn't saying: that would involve splitting up the gang, and sending one of them with their detachment. William would have been the obvious choice, but Mags was paranoid about losing him when he was mere yards away—she would be out of her mind with worry with him so far.

“It might be time to start tapping some lieutenants, in that case,” Lizzie said. “Two or three—five at the most. Some of these people have been with us since '69—their loyalty is above question.”

Mags sighed and nodded. “We'll discuss it with William. I'm sure he has some ideas.”

“Lydia and Peter come to mind.”

“Cashell, too. My concern with sending out a separate group, though, is that without one of us to supervise, they'll splinter off and take our people with them.”

“Then we hunt them down and gut them,” Lizzie said simply. “Kill anyone foolish enough to actually agree to it, and make an example of the ringleaders.”

Mags grinned. “I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

They only had to wait a few more minutes before the outside door opened up and William strolled back in, his rifle slung over his shoulder.

“I take it the perimeter's secure?” Lizzie half-joked.

“Nah, I gave all the guards the night off. We're completely vulnerable to attack,” he said lazily, plopping down next to her and Mags. He seemed relaxed from his time outside.

“So long as we know what's coming so we can prepare,” Mags said. “Lizzie and I were just discussing something and we need your input.”

“Definitely the summer,” William said, leaning back and closing his eyes. “Too fucking cold in the winter.”

“What are you talking about?” Mags asked.

William opened one eye, and then the other. “Obviously not what you were talking about. What's the word?”

“We were discussing promoting a few members to be lieutenants so we could split up the group and take back Revere without one of us having to go. We wanted your suggestions of who to tap for that—no more than five.”

“Ah.” William rubbed his eyes. “Well, James has proven his loyalty by now, so he would be my first choice. Lydia and Cash are good options, too. And probably Marise, too.”

Mags nodded. “James, Lydia, Peter, and Cash, then. We'll keep Cash with us and send the other three over to Revere next week with... I think twenty will be enough.”

“Outfitted properly, ten could probably take it,” Lizzie said. “But better safe than sorry.”

“Tomorrow, once everyone is recovered, I'll make the announcement. And then we wait.”

 

“I know we've been here for awhile now,” Mags was saying. “We've dug in pretty well, and we could probably stay here a few months longer. But our little gang isn't quite so little anymore.”

Quiet laughter echoed around the station.

“I know. It's a good problem to have. So we've decided to send a detachment of you over to Revere to take it back. Today, Revere—tomorrow, the rest of the Commonwealth and beyond.”

Laughter gave way to looks of surprise and cheering.

“Which brings me to an important announcement. Four of you here have been with us since the beginning, and we've decided to recognize and reward you for that. Cashell, James, Lydia, and Peter are now Operator lieutenants, and they should be accorded the same respect you give William, Lizzie, and myself. Cash will be staying here as our captain of the guard, while James, Lydia, and Peter will lead the assault on Revere in a week. The three of them are to choose twenty people to take with them, so if you want to be a part of that, they're the ones you have to suck up to.”

More people laughed.

“So congratulations to our four new lieutenants, and everyone else, get ready. We're going to need every last one of you to help us take the Commonwealth.”

 

Eight days later, a runner from Revere reported that they were able to take the station, suffering only five casualties. They'd also absorbed a few raiders from the previous gang into their ranks, bringing the total up to twenty-two. None of them were too worried about the new members—with James, Lydia, and Peter, they'd be able to determine who was a good fit for the Operators and who wasn't. They could handle it. Meanwhile, guard rotations improved with Cash running the show—Lizzie noticed William going outside to check on the guards a lot less now. Even the settlement they'd intimidated into providing them with food was getting more compliant, dropping all their stress levels significantly.

Lizzie should have known this meant something bad was on the horizon.

It started innocuously enough. The first week's cut from Revere showed up to Andrew on time, but the second week's was late. The next few weeks showed up on time, but the caps were dwindling. By the end of the second month, they'd gone two weeks without receiving anything from Revere.

Less than three months after James, Lydia, and Peter had taken Revere, a runner came back to Andrew, two of his fingers missing. Lizzie's first thought was that he'd been attacked on the way over, but it turned out to be much worse.

“Lydia and Peter—they're keeping everything,” he said. “There was an uprising—they turned on us. I just barely got away. They're talking about getting more people and storming Andrew.”

“What about James?” William said sharply.

“They killed him—Lydia and Peter. He didn't want to go along with their plan, wanted to stay loyal to the Operators, so they killed him. Out of the twenty-six of us, only eight refused to go along with them.” The runner swallowed hard. “The others are probably dead by now.”

Mags's face looked utterly blank, but Lizzie recognized that look as an expression of cold fury. “I suppose Lydia and Peter chose who they did because they were _all_ thinking about doing this.”

The runner nodded. “I think so. It seemed coordinated.”

William was gripping his rifle so hard Lizzie thought it might break in his hands.

“What was it you said, Lizzie?” Mags went on. “Hunt them down and gut them?”

“I believe those were my exact words, yes.” Lizzie's heart was pounding. She'd _thought_ about it, sure, planned for it—but she never expected anyone in the Operators would be foolish enough to actually betray them.

“William, rally the gang. We're taking Revere.”

 

For the rest of the day, Lizzie was holed up in the corner making as many grenades and Molotov cocktails as she could. The plan was simple: kill everyone in Revere except Lydia and Peter. Those two would be dragged out and made an example of.

Lizzie was glad she wasn't in Cash's shoes. Considering one of the other lieutenants had been killed by the other two, Cash was the only one alive not on Mags's shit list—although they had every reason to worry. Lydia and Peter had given no sign of their impending betrayal, so they must have felt the pressure to prove their own loyalty.

Once Peter and Lydia were dealt with, there would be no new lieutenants. It had been a mistake from the beginning, and now they were paying for it.

The next morning, after leaving Cash and a handful of people behind to guard Andrew, the entire gang moved on Revere. It wasn't too far, maybe two hours' walk away. They didn't know what exactly they were walking into—Lizzie had already contemplated the possibility of it being a trap—but they had no choice. They couldn't just let this slide and allow Lydia and Peter to ruin the Operators' reputation.

Gunfire broke out before they had even reached the beach. There was a surprisingly small number of people outside, meaning the rest must be all down in the station itself. They swept through and took out everyone outside, checking the surrounding buildings for holdouts. Once they'd determined that everyone outside was dead, they took a few minutes to regroup before heading down into the station.

Lizzie took point. She assumed—correctly, it turned out—that the station would be booby-trapped. She disarmed the tripwires, grenade bouquets, and frag mines that dotted the floor, swept behind the counters for ambushes, and then tossed one of her own flash-smoke grenades down onto the platform.

As soon as the grenade went off, it was chaos. More gunfire erupted around them, but most of the rounds missed wildly. One narrowly missed Lizzie, embedding itself in the wall just inches from her head.

“Shit,” she muttered, leveling a return blast in the direction it had come from. She heard a grunt of pain and figured her shot had hit the mark.

Their allied Operators were fanning out, gas masks on to let them breathe despite the smoke. There was gunfire from the opposite platform, so Mags lobbed a frag grenade toward it. Another bang and more gunfire echoed around the station.

In the ensuing confusion, the smoke began to clear, so Lizzie tossed another flash-smoke grenade further down the tracks. She led a small group further into the station to look for more opposition while Mags and William took the other two-thirds with them to finish mopping up the traitors across the platform.

While her own group fanned out and searched, Lizzie hung back and watched, mostly to make sure no one was able to slip by. The one benefit to having been in Revere before was that they already knew there was only one exit, so even if someone managed to sneak past her, they wouldn't make it past the two guarding the doors.

She should have looked closer, or behind her, because while she watched, she sensed movement behind her. Before she could turn around, she felt a knife at her throat.

“Shouldn't have come here, Lizzie,” came a hissing voice in her ear. “Mags and William might survive this and kill us all, but _you_ won't sur—”

Lizzie, bored of listening to the monologue, took advantage of the distraction provided by the ranting and plunged her knife directly into her assailant's thigh. They let out a yelp of pain and dropped, pulling their own knife away from her as they fell, but it still cut into her neck. She turned, saw Peter, and kicked him as hard as she could. “You're lucky Mags wants to kill you herself, or I'd gut you right now.”

She glanced up toward the other side of the tracks. Mags was staring right at them, her eyes wide in an expression Lizzie recognized as fear—quickly melting into rage.

“Then again,” Lizzie went on, “maybe Mags won't be as merciful as I would have been.” She wiped her knife off on his clothes, motioned for two of her Operators to apprehend Peter, and went over to join Mags. “Did you find Lydia?”

“We did. The rest of the holdouts are all down, so once we get them both out of here, we can make examples of them. Here—it's not clean, but it'll do until we get back to Andrew,” she added, pulling out a red neckerchief.

“Wha—?” Lizzie touched her throat and came away with her fingers covered in blood. She hadn't even realized how badly she was bleeding. “Oh. Thanks.” She tied the kerchief around her neck and went with Mags to find William, who was just finishing up beating the last surviving traitor into a pulp.

He, like Mags, looked alarmed at Lizzie's wound, but it became fury once Lizzie explained what had happened.

“Gonna have a _lot_ of fun with those two,” he growled.

Lizzie was very grateful to not be in Lydia and Peter's shoes right now.

When the three of them came out of the station, the other Operators already had Lydia and Peter on their knees on the beach. Many of them sported various minor wounds, nothing that a stimpak wouldn't cure. None of them seemed to pay attention to their injuries, though—they all seemed eager to see this. They'd followed Mags, William, and Lizzie all the way from Andrew, though—Lizzie shouldn't have been surprised that all of them looked ready for blood.

Their gang parted to let them through, and they took up positions behind the disgraced raiders. William dropped to a crouch between Lydia and Peter and hissed, “So, tell me—which one of you killed James?”

Neither of them answered. They just stared at him with contempt on their faces.

“Nothing? Very well. I suppose it doesn't really matter. You're both going to die in a minute anyway.” He stood up and stepped back, pulling the machete from his belt.

“You've all been with us for awhile—long enough to know we prefer caps to blood,” Mags said. “But let me be clear: betrayal will not be tolerated _or_ forgiven. You turn your backs on us, you pay with your lives. So if anyone else here was thinking of pulling a stunt like either of these two fools, let this be your first and only warning.” She glanced at William and nodded.

It was brutal, but oddly artistic at the same time. William carved Lydia like a brahmin, the disgraced lieutenant's screams piercing the warm afternoon air. It seemed to take hours and seconds rolled into one, but by the time William was done, Lydia was in pieces.

Peter's cool had broken. Before William could even turn to him, Peter stumbled to his feet and attempted to make a break for it. Fortunately, Lizzie had anticipated that, and she raised her rifle, aiming and firing.

Peter shrieked and crumpled as the bullet hit his leg. A few Operators dragged him back, kicking and screaming, and shoved him back in front of the gang.

“My friend, that was the second-biggest mistake of your soon-to-be-ended life,” William said, flicking Lydia's blood off his machete, directly into Peter's face. “Not as soon as you might hope, though.”

 

_What a mess_ , Lizzie thought later that evening. Their gang had returned to Andrew and proceeded to unwind in true raider fashion—target practice, booze, and chems. When all was said and done, they were down nearly thirty people. She couldn't believe the damage that had been done. She hoped it wouldn't signal the beginning of the end for the Operators—they had a good thing going here, and most of their gang was still loyal.

The only good thing to come from this was that they'd culled the riffraff from their ranks. Unfortunately, they'd also taken out quite a few good people, James among them.

Speaking of whom...

Lizzie wasn't a fool by any stretch of the imagination. She'd noticed how William seemed to take James's death personally, how he took great pleasure in making sure Lydia and Peter suffered for it. Lizzie wouldn't complain about the latter, but the former worried her, especially when, the moment they got back to Andrew, William disappeared into the station instead of lingering outside like he usually did. At first, Lizzie thought he was just going to put away his weapons and he'd be back up shortly, but when nearly an hour had passed, she got the feeling something was wrong.

She headed into the station herself and made her way to the walled-off corner that served as the room she shared with the twins. When she found William, she was disappointed but unsurprised.

He was sprawled out on his mattress, brown eyes unfocused and gazing at the ceiling. Next to him lay at least five empty syringes of Med-X, but she knew from personal experience that it didn't work as well for emotional pain.

“William,” she murmured, sitting down next to him. “I'm sorry.”

She wasn't sure he was listening until he shook his head—if you could call it that, the barest twitch of his head to each side. “Not your fault,” he mumbled.

“I know.” She stretched out a hand and began running her fingers through his hair. Over the past eight years, he'd only cut it a handful of times, and it now hung past his shoulders. He closed his eyes. “But James... you loved him, didn't you?”

William didn't reply, but the tears that squeezed past his closed eyelids was answer enough.

“I know it hurts, but shooting up enough Med-X to take down a brahmin isn't the answer.”

“'F you got another suggestion, I'm all ears.”

_Why didn't you tell us?_ Lizzie wanted to ask, but she knew now wasn't the right time. _Or what if he told Mags but he didn't want to tell_ me _?_ It was a horrible thought, one she pushed away. “I don't, except to talk to us. We're here for you. You're allowed to mourn, but this...” She picked up a syringe. “You're shutting us out.”

“I'm disassociating,” William said. “There's a difference. I just don't want to be in my head for awhile.”

Lizzie sighed. “Okay, budge up, lumpy.”

The barest hint of a smile flickered across William's face as he raised his head just far enough for Lizzie to squeeze in behind him. For a long time, she held him, still stroking his hair. He clung to her other arm, eyes closed, silent except for the occasional sob. Once, he turned to the side and reached for another syringe, but she caught his hand. “You don't need it, love.”

His arm went slack and he pulled it back in. “That's a goddamn lie.”

It couldn't have been more than ten minutes later before Mags appeared in the doorway. Lizzie noticed before she backed away—obviously she thought they were having some kind of moment and wanted to leave them alone—but Lizzie motioned for her to join them. She couldn't think of anything else that might help William more than Mags being there, too.

Then Mags must have noticed the syringes and the look on William's face, and she realized she'd seriously misjudged the situation. “What happened?” she asked, looking from Lizzie to William and back.

“He's grieving for James,” Lizzie said when it was clear William wasn't going to answer.

Mags looked confused for a moment, but it gave way to comprehension a moment later. “God, I'm sorry,” she whispered, dropping to lie down next to William. “I had no idea.”

“That was the point,” William mumbled. “Just wanted to keep it to myself for awhile.”

“It certainly explains things. Here, move over.”

The three of them poked and shoved and rearranged themselves until Mags had an arm around William and both of them were propped up against Lizzie, who had her arms around both of them. It wasn't very comfortable for any of them, but Lizzie, at least, felt an aching sadness—love for them both, and agony for William—and there wasn't anywhere she'd rather be than right there with them.

“I don't deserve you two,” William sighed.

“Based on our trajectory since we were twelve, I don't think any of us deserve anything except to burn in Hell, but let's just enjoy what we've got going, okay?” Mags half-joked.

“I don't know,” Lizzie said. “I think we deserve each other. We're all pretty horrible.”

William laughed and sobbed at the same time.

Lizzie tightened her arms around the twins, the only two people she cared about in the world, and hoped for better days.

* * *

_Federal Ration Stockpile, April 2286._

Mags didn't make the same mistake twice. Over the past nine years, as her gang grew stronger and stronger, she resisted the urge to promote new lieutenants. Cash had lasted two more years before they'd gotten gunned down during a raid, and as above reproach as their record had been, she didn't want to see a repeat of what had happened with Lydia and Peter. She made sure any new members knew about what happened to them, too, lest they get any ideas.

But they were all older now. The raiders joining them weren't desperate farm kids looking for a way out of their boring lives—they were combat-hardened, and most importantly, they were bored with their old gangs. The appeal of the interesting things that the Operators were doing was enough to draw them in and keep them there.

The caps didn't hurt, either.

The Stockpile had a huge surplus of food and water, and it was a great headquarters. They'd taken it about a year ago from a paltry nameless group of raiders who they'd wiped out with a laughable quickness. It had room enough for their main contingent—they had a small group up at Sunshine Tidings Co-Op that actually executed most of their raids—and it had weapons and ammo for days. It was a good outpost.

The only problem was that they were now on the extreme western edge of the Commonwealth, and there wasn't much else out here aside from a few empty farms and the Abernathy place to the north. If the location wasn't so awful, it would have been perfect.

Fortunately, a good piece of gossip came through the raider grapevine in late March. According to one of their scouts, there was apparently some raider boss trying to put together a large enough crew to take over Nuka-World, an old-world theme park that a bunch of traders had set up in. “The caps would probably pour in there,” the scout finished.

That, Mags didn't doubt. Both William and Lizzie were just as interested in the idea as she was, and after a brief discussion, their decision was unanimous: they were going to try to get in on that action. After sending a runner up to Sunshine Tidings to tell them to come back, they sent out two more to the Nuka-World Transit Center to gauge what was going on there and figure out if there was even a place for them.

“So the boss guy, his name's Colter, and he's got this second-in-command named Gage, and they're trying to get at least three different raider gangs together, three big ones, to take over the park. So far, it looks like two others are there—this really weird-looking bunch all in masks with knives, call themselves The Disciples, and some reps from another gang that... well, I _think_ they're pretending to be animals. They're The Pack. So there's definitely room for us. We talked to Gage and he's interested in meeting all the bosses before they start planning anything,” the runner finished breathlessly.

Mags glanced at William and Lizzie. She could tell they were both thinking the same thing that she was. “Sounds like it could be a trap. Only one of us should go. I'll take fifteen with me, just to be safe.”

“So what happens if it _is_ a trap?” William said. “If you're killed out there—”

“Then you and Lizzie carry on without me. We're raiders—our life expectancy's not that great in the first place. It's a miracle we all made it to thirty.”

Neither of them really liked that prospect, but Mags had made her decision. The next day, she gathered up her crew—battle-tested, loyal, and tough—to take with her and set off for where the other gangs were gathering.

The first group she saw was the Pack. The runner hadn't been kidding—most of them had weird helmets modeled after extinct, old-world animals—predators, if she recalled her old-world history correctly. They didn't look that tough, but then again, there were only about two dozen of them right now. Perhaps, like the Operators, they had left the bulk of their force somewhere else.

If the Disciples hadn't shown up in full force, Mags was a little concerned about what their full force actually _was_. There was easily a hundred of them, and she wondered how she'd never heard about either of these gangs when they obviously seemed so popular.

A man who didn't seem like he belonged with either gang approached her. “You from the Operators?” he called, his voice a slurring drawl.

“Yes. I'm Mags Black, head of the Operators.” She couldn't quite place it, but she was _sure_ she'd seen this guy somewhere before. He had a narrow stripe of dark-brown hair down the middle of his head while the rest was shaved off, and a patch over his right eye. She would have recognized the eyepatch if she'd seen it before, but she still couldn't shake the feeling that she recognized him.

“Thought there'd be more of you.”

“There are. I just wanted to check this out for myself before committing to bringing my entire crew out.”

“Fair enough. Name's Porter Gage, Overboss Colter's right-hand man.”

“Overboss, huh? If this action means surrendering my gang, I don't care _how_ good the caps are.”

“Nah, Colter doesn't want command of any of your gangs. He just wants your help and your respect.”

Mags scoffed. “He'll get respect when he earns respect.”

Gage didn't respond to that. Instead, he said, “Since you're here, might as well meet the other bosses, huh? Follow me.”

Mags motioned for her group to come along and she followed Gage to where the rest of the gangs were gathered. She kept her eyes open, scouting for snipers in the parking garage, but she didn't see anything.

“Pack, Disciples, these are the Operators—well, some of them, anyway. This is Mags Black, Operator boss. Mags, this is Nisha—she runs the Disciples—”

He indicated a tall woman with ripped black clothes and a metal mask that obscured her face, leaving only her mouth exposed. A cursory glance told Mags that more than half of the Disciples—maybe even a solid three-quarters of them—appeared to be women, which rather surprised her. With the Operators, it was a pretty even split. She made a note not to fuck with them too much—a lot of them appeared to be toying with knives.

“And this is Grant and Parker—they're the Pack's Alphas,” Gage said, motioning to the pair in the front of the Pack. Both of them were dressed in bright colors, but unlike the rest of the Pack, they didn't wear helmets, only face paint. One of them had green streaks running down their face, while the other had diagonal slashes of purple.

“And this is Overboss Colter,” Gage finished. Colter approached, and Mags wasn't particularly impressed. He looked unduly ordinary—taller than average, shaved head, generally mean look about him.

“Tell 'em about the plan, Gage,” Colter said in an accent Mags had never heard before.

“Right. There's a group of traders, maybe a hundred or so, holed up in Nuka-Town, the first area of Nuka-World. There's five other areas—parks, whatever—but no one seems to be there. With all three gangs, we should be able to overwhelm what little defenses they have set up and take over. The thing is, they have a market set up, and it brings in a lot of caps, so try to keep most of the traders alive. We'll keep them trading and run the show from the rest of the park. The next phase is gonna have us going to the other five parks, clearing them out, and having the individual gangs run those.”

Mags didn't need to be good at math to know how this would end—five parks and three gangs? One of them was going to get shafted. She didn't like that at all.

“What sort of timeline are we looking at for this?” Nisha asked. She had a low, smooth voice.

“Moving on Nuka-Town, we want to get out there within the next two weeks. As for the parks, that'll have to wait until we know what we're dealing with. The fact that those traders don't really go to those areas tells me there's something nasty there. So clearing out the parks may take awhile.”

Mags didn't like that, either. But the caps...

“How big is this place?” said one the Alphas—Mags didn't know if it was Grant or Parker.

“The whole place or just Nuka-Town?”

“Both, I guess.”

Gage looked around at them. “Nuka-Town's big enough for everyone. There's a few places there that would make good headquarters for you guys—an amphitheater, Fizztop Mountain, a couple lounges. The whole Nuka-World complex though... according to this map...” Gage pulled out a battered green map. It appeared to have the layout of the parks on it. “We got room to stretch out and expand our operations. No pun intended,” he added with a smirk at Mags.

She stared at him, wondering if the other bosses would make a move on her if she stabbed out his other eye.

He must have realized that his poorly-timed joke had fallen flat because he cleared his throat and went on. “So these are the other five parks. Kiddie Kingdom, the World of Refreshment—that's a bottling plant, probably got lots of caps—Safari Zone, Dry Rock Gulch, and Galactic Zone. There's also a Red Rocket off to the east and a power plant to the west. The power plant's offline right now, but once we get the parks cleared and claimed, we'll head into the plant and see if we can get the lights on again. So that's pretty much it for the plan. Any other questions?”

Mags had one. “Now that you've told us your grand plan, what's stopping us from just killing the two of you and implementing all this ourselves?”

The Pack Alphas exchanged looks of interest and Nisha tilted her head to the side.

Gage grinned. “Suppose you could do that, sure. But then who's gonna spearhead this assault? You pick someone from one of your gangs, the other two gangs won't listen to them—and I'm not deluded enough to think your gangs can coordinate with each other without a lot of fighting. So having an unaffiliated Overboss is gonna be the easiest way to get this done.”

Mags crossed her arms. Gage had a point—she wouldn't follow anyone from the Pack or the Disciples. When it came time to divvy up the parks, they would favor their own gang. That was probably why they'd opted to rally three gangs in the first place anyway—not only would three gangs have the numbers they needed, but with all the rivalry, they'd keep each other in check.

She supposed she could always back out of this if she wanted to, but the allure of those caps was too strong. It was a good plan.

“Well, the Pack is in,” said one of the Alphas.

“We're in,” Nisha said.

“All in,” Mags said.

“Good,” said Gage. “Gather the rest of your gangs and be back here in ten days, and then we move on Nuka-World.”

 

“How did it go?” William asked once Mags returned to the Stockpile.

“Colter—calls himself the 'Overboss'—didn't talk much. His second, Gage, seems to be the brains of the group. He laid the whole plan out—taking the parks, keeping the traders trading to bring in the caps, getting the power back online, everything. Why he's not just taking control himself is beyond me, but both of them could very easily become a problem we need to take care of.”

“So why don't we just take care of them before they become a problem?” Lizzie asked.

“Because they're still useful. I brought that up, actually—they told us the whole plan, so what was stopping us from killing them and implementing it without their guidance? Gage made a fair point when he said that installing someone from one of the gangs would pretty much guarantee that only that gang would follow them. I am _not_ taking orders from a Disciple or anyone in the Pack, and I'm sure they all feel the same about each other and us. So we need someone unaffiliated to coordinate this operation, and it looks like that's Colter and Gage.”

“And what's stopping us from just doing it all ourselves?” William asked.

“We don't have the numbers. The park is huge. We could probably take Nuka-Town, where the first attack will be, all on our own, but then we won't have the people to take the other five areas. We'd need four or five times the people we have now. So as much as it pains me to admit it, we need to all work together.”

“Can we work with the other gangs? What are they like?”

Mags sighed. “Nisha and her Disciples seem disciplined. From first glance, they're intimidating. Should be interesting to see how they fare in combat. The Pack come off as wild animals. Their 'Alphas,' Grant and Parker—can't get a bead on them. Probably fierce, but they were smart enough not to show up with their full gang, like us. The Disciples brought everyone—at least, I _hope_ that was everyone, because there was at least a hundred of them there. Any more and they could probably overwhelm all of us.”

“How much time do we have to prepare?”

“Ten days, then we move.”

* * *

_Ten days later._

Lizzie had spent most of the last ten days improving everyone's armor—they'd sent out scavvers to find all the materials they'd need. As an altogether unnecessary final touch, she'd added a welded black bowtie to the front of William's chest piece since all of their chest armor had a jut of two or three inches to cover their necks. They'd learned from Peter's assault on Lizzie, something Mags still hadn't been able to quite let go. Sometimes when she thought about how close she'd come to losing Lizzie, she wanted to murder Peter all over again.

She hated it, hated the realization that Lizzie had almost died, hated how terrified she'd been, even after Lizzie made short work of dropping him. She hated that helpless feeling she had when she knew Lizzie was in danger, almost as acutely as when she knew William was in danger. She wished she could cut out her heart and hide it; she hated knowing just how important to her Lizzie really was. She hated how vulnerable it made her. She knew that William knew, of course—he'd told her to tell Lizzie many times by now. But Mags was unsure. Sometimes it seemed like Lizzie might also like her as well, but then she thought she was imagining things or simply projecting her own feelings. Besides, what if Lizzie didn't feel the same way? Wasn't it better to just keep things the way they were right now? It had been nearly seventeen years already. It was too late now.

The Operators returned to the transit center with their full strength, armed to the teeth. The rest of the Pack had shown up, too, and Mags was only impressed because of how disorganized they seemed. Most of their armor seemed to be made of leather, and while the Operators primarily carried rifles, the Pack seemed to favor baseball bats. There were some ranged weapons thrown in, but she knew that she'd rather be part of the gang with firearms.

The Disciples numbers stayed the same—they all had their knives and most of them were making a show of sharpening them or twirling them. Mags noted that they all had guns, but hardly anyone seemed to want to use them. _Useless._

Gage looked around at them. “We're getting over to Nuka-Town on this monorail here. All of us won't fit at once, so we're gonna go in three separate waves. Overboss Colter is leading the first wave—you can decide in your gangs who's going with the first wave, the second, and the third. I'm going with the last group to make sure everyone gets over. I want members of each gang in each wave to keep things nice and balanced. Take a few minutes.”

Mags immediately turned to William and Lizzie. “I'm going first. Lizzie, you take second. William, you're third. I have a feeling the last group is going to need to bash a few skulls, and I'd feel better knowing it was you.”

William and Lizzie nodded.

“Let's get these clowns divided up.” The three of them prowled through the gang, tapping people to join them until they had a mostly-even three-way split. Since William was acting as cavalry, they gave him a few extra people.

They'd already given their gang a rundown of the plan, so they knew not to kill the traders—or, as Mags put it, “Only kill a couple if you _have_ to.” Their goal, after all, was to keep caps coming in. Most of the Operators looked restless, and Mags wasn't surprised. It had been too long since they'd had a good fight. Hopefully this one would be another good one.

“First wave, with me!” Colter yelled over their heads. He was now in a suit of power armor that had been welded like cage armor. It looked formidable, but like a mess. _Lizzie could probably clean that up nicely_ , Mags thought, but she kept it to herself. Just in case Colter needed to be put down, she didn't want to give him any advantages.

Mags wasn't surprised when Nisha came along with the first group or that Grant, the Alpha with the purple face paint, came too. They followed Colter onto the train, everyone piling in and elbowing each other for a seat. Mags was too anxious to sit still, so she remained standing.

Then Gage, working the controls from the booth in the station, sent them off, and they lost their last chance to back out.

“Don't look much like a boss to me,” she heard Nisha mutter from a few feet away. She didn't even turn to see if Nisha was talking to her or about her. “Don't look like you've gotten your hands dirty a day in your life.”

“I killed my parents when I was fifteen,” Mags said coldly, not bothering to look.

“Really?” Nisha said, sounding unconvinced. “What for?”

“The caps, of course. My mother had a whole pile that my brother and I were supposed to inherit, until she cut us off. So we killed our parents and took their money.”

“Hmm. Not bad for a first kill.”

“That wasn't my first kill. The first was a Diamond City guard when I was twelve.”

“What was that one for?” Grant asked.

Mags shrugged. “He happened to be there.”

Nisha muttered something to a Disciple sitting next to her. Mags couldn't hear it, but she assumed it was insulting. She ignored them, though, keeping her eyes focused out the window.

They passed over a small chain of mountains while a voice coming out of speakers above their heads explained the various attractions at the park—a relic of the old world. She saw Fizztop Mountain that apparently stood over a hundred meters tall, and a few walled-in areas that she presumed to be the parks. She was pretty sure she knew which one was Kiddie Kingdom, judging from the once-bright colors splashed on the few attractions she could see over its walls. Way in the distance was what looked like a metal snake—a ride. She couldn't tell what park it was a part of, not from this distance.

The train rounded a bend, and she saw Nuka-Town for the first time. A bubble of exhilaration welled up inside her—those traders wouldn't know what hit them.

The train pulled into the station and they all piled off. Colter hit a button behind the counter as soon as everyone was off, and the doors closed, then the train shot back the way it came, back to the transit center.

“Let's move,” Colter said.

It was a short walk from the station to the entrance of Nuka-World. They traipsed through a garage, down the stairs, across an open expanse—

She saw a trader cross the archways to the entrance. The trader caught sight of them, dropped what was in their arms, and sprinted back the way they'd come. A few moments later, an alarm started blaring.

It was too late. By the time the traders—armed with a few pipe pistols and pipe rifles—assembled to fight them, they were already there.

It was laughably easy to overwhelm their rudimentary defenses. A few of the traders were gunned down right away, and Mags saw a few Disciples dragging a screaming trader away while Colter started passing out shock collars to the gangs.

The Pack gleefully started slapping collars on traders left and right, beating down anyone who tried to fight or get away. By the time they swept into the marketplace and started shooting, the second wave arrived.

Several knots of traders—maybe twenty in all—managed to flee the park. When the third wave showed up, they gave chase, tearing after them toward some of the other parks. Meanwhile, the first two groups cleared out the rest of Nuka-Town from wall to wall and helped corral the collared traders in the marketplace. All told, eight traders lay dead out of nearly a hundred, not counting the ones that had fled, which wasn't bad. They still had enough traders to make for a sizable workforce.

William and the rest of the third group came back with a few more traders in shock collars, but it definitely wasn't all of them. “There's something nasty in Dry Rock Gulch,” he muttered to Mags and Lizzie once they brought the small band of traders into the market. “Don't want to chase after them until we know what we're dealing with there.”

Then Colter began his speech. “Hello, traders! I am Overboss Colter, and these gangs with me are the Pack, the Operators, and the Disciples. Get to know them, get to fear them, because we are your new bosses. You work for us now. Those lovely collars you've been outfitted with ain't just for looks—you take three steps out of Nuka-Town, and— _pop!—_ your head explodes. You fuck with them, and your head explodes. You piss any of us off, and your head explodes. Any questions?” he roared at the cowering slaves.

If they had any questions, they were too scared to ask them, which suited Mags just fine. Colter turned to address the raider gangs.

“Pack, Operators, Disciples—bosses, explore the park and pick a place to set up shop.” He pointed to Fizztop Mountain, towering above the archways of the marketplace. “The Mountaintop is mine, but the rest you can divide as you see fit.”

Mags eyed Nisha and the Alphas. If they all tried to pick the same place, she wasn't sure how they were going to resolve it.

She turned and motioned for William and Lizzie to follow her, and they left the marketplace with Grant, Parker, Nisha, and two other Disciples she hadn't been introduced to. As soon as they were back out in the main section of Nuka-Town, Parker said, “Okay, what the hell? Who the fuck are all you? We know Mags an' Nisha, but—”

“These are my lieutenants,” Nisha said smoothly. “Dixie and Savoy.”

“My brother, William, is my second, and our co-conspirator Lizzie Wyath is my third.”

“Okay, and where the fuck were they ten days ago?”

“You could stand to lose the attitude,” Nisha snapped.

Mags found herself agreeing with Nisha. “Like I was going to bring all of my gang's leaders to a meeting of a group of raiders I've never met? How stupid do you think I am?”

They all glared at each other for a few tense seconds. Dixie and Savoy had their hands on their knives, and if Mags knew William, he was ready to let his machete fly.

“Fair enough,” Grant said finally. “Let's get to figuring this out.”

They wandered the park, locating the amphitheater Gage had mentioned, Cappy Cafe, the Nuka-Cade across from what had been a restaurant called The Parlor, and underneath Fizztop Grille, a huge door leading inside the mountain. There didn't seem to be anything aside from those, and the Cappy Cafe and the Nuka-Cade would probably have other uses, which left the Bradberton Amphitheater, The Parlor, and Fizztop Mountain.

“What do you think?” Mags asked William and Lizzie quietly.

“The Parlor. It's not exposed to the elements, and it's not a fucking cave,” William muttered. “It's got a nice style.”

Lizzie scoffed. “It's garish. Unfortunately, I agree with William on the other points. At least after seventeen years we can finally set up somewhere that actually seems like a home.”

Mags nodded. “That's what I was thinking, too.” She turned back to the other bosses, who were just coming out of their own huddles. “Where do you want?” she asked, looking from Nisha to Grant and Parker.

“The amphitheater,” Grant said.

“We want the mountain,” Nisha said.

Mags gave a faint smile. “Well, that works out nicely. We want the Parlor.”

“Well,” said Parker. “I guess that settles it.”

“Let's set up,” Nisha said.

* * *

“ _Hey, anyone else getting a little tired of drinking Nuka-Cola? I mean, it beats dying of thirst, I guess, but, uh, my teeth ain't lookin' so good...”_

***

The beginning of 2287 didn't herald much but an increase in tempers and boredom. William had a feeling that the Nuka-World thing was too good to be true—and he was right.

He hadn't expected that they would go clear out parks the day after they arrived or even that week. They all had too much to do, hauling their gear from where they'd stashed it in the Stockpile and setting up the Parlor. They brought in a chemistry station for Lizzie, and Mags took a great deal of pleasure in putting their mother's hand in one of the fridges in the kitchen, among a set of blocks that spelled out _HI MOM_. They blacked out the windows and decorated the whole building and a good portion of the exterior surrounding the Parlor with the Operator logo. It hadn't changed much since they were sixteen except the part that had once been blood drips was now yellow paint.

But once the flurry of setting up died down, it became increasingly clear—especially as the weeks turned into months—that Colter no longer had any intention of following through on his promises—if he'd had the intention in the first place.

People found ways to cope with the boredom. Colter was planning something he called “The Gauntlet”—a kind of obstacle course filled with death traps to lure in hapless visitors to the park. Construction was already underway (if you could call it that), members from all three gangs hauling sheets of plywood and barrels to set up the maze.

The Pack were setting up a zoo of sorts—capturing all sorts of animals and turning the Amphitheater into a barn. William avoided going anywhere near their hideout now; the smell was awful.

The Disciples who weren't occupied with constructing the Gauntlet were usually hidden away in the mountain, and judging by the troughs of blood they wheeled out from time to time, they were busy decorating in there. He was content to not know where the blood was coming from.

The Operators were always found huddled in groups of five or six, whispering to each other. William was concerned until he realized they were devising ways of fucking with the other gangs—mostly by tricking them into attacking each other. Technically, it didn't violate the terms of the agreement that Gage forced them to abide by—the gangs weren't allowed to fight each other, no matter how bad the clashes got.

William understood the need for it, but it still irritated him.

Nuka-World had a radio station now—it was run by some raider who had popped in from nowhere, calling himself “RedEye,” who was unaffiliated with all the gangs there. William could only listen to the station for about an hour before he was tempted to murder RedEye with his bare hands—the man was a human disaster. He only had about seven songs in rotation, and he performed every single one of them himself. The only highlight of his broadcast was when he read notes that people submitted on the air. Some of those were genuinely funny. _“'Hey, RedEye, I heard you were wondering where Super Mutants came from. Maybe you should ask your mom.' Real classy, jackass.”_

There was also the Nuka-Cade, now that the machines were up and running. That was solely thanks to a man named Fritsch, who wasn't exactly a raider, but he wasn't a trader, either. William wasn't exactly sure where _he_ had come from, but he wasn't collared and he wore leather armor—and had somehow gotten his hands on a bit of Operator gear—but he was only interested in breaking down and reassembling all the pre-war arcade machines. He was the only one who knew how to do that and the only one who had any interest in it, and he kept the prize machine stocked, so he was left pretty much alone.

Lizzie buried herself in new experiments—her latest project seemed to be some kind of chemical that made people more susceptible to suggestions. Mags only encouraged her experimentation. Maybe she hoped they could motivate Colter to start taking over the rest of the park with the right push.

William had gotten a new hobby of his own, too—one he wasn't about to tell Mags or Lizzie about, or really anyone, for that matter.

It had started less than a month after they'd claimed Nuka-World. He'd been bored, so he wandered into the marketplace and looked around. A few people from the Pack, judging by their clothes, seemed to be staring at him, but he deliberately ignored them. He would have let it go entirely except a few minutes later, when he looked again, one of the group was still staring at him. Unless he was wildly misinterpreting the look on the Pack member's face, he was eyeing William with an appreciative expression.

As puzzling as that was, it certainly made him feel a little better about himself. He didn't particularly care what other people thought about him, but sometimes it was nice to be reminded that someone found him attractive. Even if, as in this case, that someone happened to be in the Pack.

He lingered a little longer and cast another glance at the Pack member watching him. His friends had wandered away in the interim, leaving him leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed over his chest. His hair was reddish orange, and William couldn't help wondering if he'd dyed it that color or if it was natural. It could have been either.

_I need to get out of here._ He'd been cooped up too long if he was seriously starting to appraise a Pack member, of all people. This was not good.

He grabbed a couple boxes of 7.62 rounds to make it seem like he'd had a reason for coming to begin with and headed out of the marketplace. He couldn't resist throwing one more glance over his shoulder—the Pack member was still watching him.

And so it went on for nearly two weeks—he didn't know why he kept coming back, and he certainly couldn't justify buying so many rounds every day when the last time he'd shot his rifle was the day they took over Nuka-Town. But every time he went to the market and that Pack member was there, his eyes barely left William. It only took a few days for William to get used to it, to almost hope for it every time he went. After James...

Well, that still hurt, but James had been gone for nine years now. Med-X had been enough for awhile to dull the pain at first, but now that it was less a constant stabbing and more a blunt aching, he felt a little better. No one had shown any type of interest in him since then, and he had been fine with that—missing James made him feel weak and helpless, and he'd decided that between Mags and Lizzie, there were enough people in his life to make him vulnerable. He'd do anything either of them asked of them—he didn't need anyone else like that. At least with them, he was sure they wouldn't abuse that knowledge.

It was suspicious, though. Did this guy honestly think he had a chance with a rival gang's boss? It was foolish for him to even think it was a possibility. Even if William _was_ considering it.

He hated himself for the way his heart skipped a beat whenever he realized that Pack member was still looking at him. He hated himself for liking it.

It was almost a relief when inevitable confrontation happened. William had just paid for a couple of syringes of Med-X when he sensed someone coming up behind him. He turned around and found himself right in front of the Pack member who'd spent the last two weeks undressing him with his eyes. “What?” he said, a bit more roughly than he'd intended, but it suddenly occurred to him that the market was full of not just traders and Commonwealth visitors but members of all three gangs. This wouldn't look good, especially to the Operators.

Pack Guy grinned at him and said, “Figured it was about time to actually talk, since we've been eyeing each other for awhile now.” Up close, William saw his eyes were a deep brown. It was a little distracting, but more than that, there was something about him that seemed... familiar. William knew he'd never seen this guy before in his life, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that he knew him, somehow.

“Not here,” he muttered.

Pack Guy raised an eyebrow, the same reddish-orange as his hair and his beard. It looked like that was his natural hair color. “The gang bosses said no fighting. They didn't say no fucking.”

William cocked his head to the side. The way he'd referred to “the gang bosses” was peculiar. _You don't know who I am?_

“The Operators are different.” He started toward the exit. The last thing he needed was anyone to overhear this.

Pack Guy kept pace. “What, is your boss tryin' to keep you from mixing with the rest of us?”

_He doesn't know._ Well, _that_ was an interesting turn of events. “Do you even know Mags Black?” William asked.

“I know _of_ her—heard she killed her parents when she was fifteen. Something about an inheritance. If that's true, I'll be shocked.”

“It's true,” William assured him. He pushed open the door and stepped into the main square of Nuka-Town.

A group of Disciples shuffled by, rolling barrels and carrying pieces of sheet metal.

“Really? She seemed like the type who wouldn't want to get her hands dirty.”

William, who knew just how dirty his sister's hands were, snorted with laughter. “You really don't know her, then.”

“I don't know _you_ , either. And I guess you don't know me. The name's Mason.”

William hesitated for only a moment. “Will.” He hadn't used that name in twenty years—only Mags called him that once in awhile—but he wanted to see if Mason had heard of Mags's older brother William, and if he'd connect it to “Will.”

“Nice to meet you, Will,” Mason said. “So, anyway, to circle back to my previous point, are you really not supposed to spend time with people from other gangs?”

“Spend time with? Perfectly fine. Fucking people from other gangs? Technically allowed, but still frowned upon. Don't tell me your Alphas would be fine with it.”

Mason shrugged. “That's not their job, to tell us what to do. Aside from not fighting with the other gangs, I mean. Everyone handles their own shit.”

“And if the rest of the Pack found out you were fucking an Operator, would they still trust you?”

“That's why I wasn't gonna _tell_ anyone, dumbass.”

Somehow, William didn't believe that. “Really?”

“Yeah—come on, they'd call me a traitor. But the Operators would probably do the same to you, huh?”

“That's putting it mildly.”

“So the answer is obvious: don't get caught.”

“I haven't agreed to anything yet. Maybe I decide I don't want to deal with the risk and just tell you to fuck off.”

“And that would be fine, but then you'd miss out on all this,” Mason said, gesturing to himself.

William stared at him for a long moment before he burst out laughing. He knew at that moment that it was over. It wasn't that he couldn't say no to Mason—he didn't want to.

There was a caved-in section of the parking garage near the train station. That was where they met later that night, after darkness had fallen and there were fewer people milling around. As much as William knew he'd regret it, he kept going back—nine o'clock, nearly every night.

After nine months with no one any the wiser, William was more sure than ever that Mason's interest, though misguided, had been genuine. What was more, Mason still didn't know who William actually was. He knew he couldn't preserve that forever, but he wanted to for as long as possible.

* * *

“ _Uhh, Nisha has the following to say to the Pack: 'Take one more shit on our lawn, and we'll put you down.' Whoo, boy! I don't write 'em, folks—I just read 'em.”_

***

“ _Victoria, it's Pax. Listen, I can't believe you're still set on trying to loot the plant. We haven't secured it yet—the place is still crawling with those Nukalurks. I know it's probably got the biggest score out here, but is it worth your life? Ah, hell, we both know what your answer to that's gonna be. Look, I know you're tryin' to impress Mags, but just wait. Wait until tomorrow, an' I'll go with you an' watch your back. It's dangerous to go alone, alright? One day isn't gonna make a difference.”_

Pax and Victoria had been missing for two weeks. This explained where they'd gone. Sighing, Mags ejected the tape from her terminal.

It was a shame, really. Both of them had been promising. If they weren't back by now, it was doubtless they were dead. She wondered if they'd even made it to the plant or if they'd gotten waylaid by another gang's scavenging team. Mags's money was on the Disciples—the Pack was sloppy when they attacked her gang, they sometimes left them for dead without actually killing them—but unless they found their bodies in the plant, they'd probably never find out. They didn't send out patrols for missing people, or else they'd never stop sending them out. Missing meant dead.

Everyone knew the risks they took when they walked out of the Parlor. They all knew that there would be no officially-sanctioned search party—for any of them. Mags knew that was supposed to include instances where she, William, or Lizzie went missing, but she also knew that she'd move heaven and earth to find either of them, and she imagined they'd do the same for her.

The door opened, but Mags didn't have to turn around to know it was William. Even though he'd been gone for the past week, there was only one person who'd dare open it without knocking. Even Lizzie knocked, although she didn't need to. “Pax and Victoria went to the bottling plant.”

“Let me guess. They wanted to claim the haul for us.” William closed the door behind him and propped his rifle up against the wall next to his bed.

“Victoria's idea. Pax wanted to go and watch her back.”

“They didn't try to talk her out of it?”

In answer, Mags popped the tape back into her terminal and played it for him. _“Victoria, it's Pax. Listen...”_

By the time it was over, William had sat down on the edge of his bed and gotten one of his leg armor pieces unstrapped. “Too bad. Should've tried harder to talk her out of it. Aside from that lapse in judgement, neither of them were exactly idiots.”

Mags leaned back in her chair and lit a cigarette. “My thoughts exactly. Fortunately, neither of them were irreplaceable, either. We'll get along without them. Speaking of getting along, how was the job Lizzie asked you to run?”

“She won't be happy,” William said, continuing to remove his armor. It was dusty, in desperate need of a good scouring. “Last one was a Jethead, this one's all strung out on Psycho. Might have to start kidnapping farmers next time—less chance for chem addicts with that lot.” He finally pulled off his chest piece and dropped it on his footlocker. “Don't want to unless I have to, though. No one notices missing drifters. Kidnapping settlers brings do-gooders and I'd like to avoid attention like that.”

“Understandable, but as you said, you may not have a choice.”

“Which is why I took some time to scope out a few settlements. The most likely possibility is Somerville Place. It's remote, so odds of them finding help is low, and there's only four of them—two adults, two children. The woman will probably be the best choice for what Lizzie has in mind.”

Mags nodded, flicking a bit of ash off the end of her cigarette. “Excellent. Any other problems?”

“Traded a few shots with some Gunners down by that plaza to the south. Jeremy caught some lead, but he's alright. Aside from that, no issues. For such a high-end mercenary group, their aim is terrible.” Letting out an exhausted sigh, William lit a cigarette of his own.

Sitting there, shoulders hunched, smoke wafting overhead, Mags could still see in him the little boy he'd been. It was a lifetime ago, but she recalled it easily, not that he'd ever been little to her. He'd always been her big brother, even when they both knew eight minutes made very little difference, that it just as easily could have been her born first. Sometimes it felt unreal to her that the three children they'd once been, plotting and playing in Diamond City, had actually grown up to be the raiders they'd planned to be. Now that they were here, she was grateful for the path they'd taken. By focusing their energies more on caps than on murder, they'd probably end up with a longer lifespan than the average raider. She couldn't recall a single raider over the age of fifty, and definitely none that had retired. She'd made her peace with the fact that they could all die at any moment, but she wondered... if they were all still alive in twenty or twenty-five years, if they had enough caps, could they actually retire from this? What would they do? Forty years of raiding and for what? They wouldn't go off to be farmers or merchants, not after all this; it didn't look like any of them would be having children, and considering the way she and William had been raised, she didn't think any of them were particularly well-equipped to be parents, anyway.

She supposed they could live out the rest of their days in Nuka-World, or maybe at some Operator outpost. Maybe, if they managed to get the whole Commonwealth under their control, they could go back to Diamond City. Hell, they probably could now—she doubted anyone there would remember or even recognize them. It had been eighteen years.

But she didn't want to do that, go crawling back to the city that had cast them out, and considering how well she knew William and Lizzie, she imagined they didn't want to, either.

Even without his armor, William seemed big, solid muscle taking up the whole room, or maybe it just seemed that way to her. Either way, she found herself stubbing out her cigarette, crossing the room, and pulling him into a tight hug. “I missed you,” she whispered.

He kissed her temple and rested his head on her shoulder, clinging to her just as tightly. “Missed you, too.”

It was draining to be without her twin for a week at a time. She understood the necessity of it so she didn't complain, but every time he left on a job, she wondered if it would be the last time she saw him. She could never really relax again until he came back, which he fortunately had every time so far.

She was just grateful that Lizzie never left for more than a few hours at a time. If they both left, she wouldn't be able to sleep at all until they returned.

“You alright?” he murmured.

She nodded. “Just tired. I don't sleep well when you're gone, Will.”

He chuckled into the crook of her neck. “And here I thought it was just me. We'll sleep better tonight, though.”

She made to let go, but his grip didn't loosen. “Need a minute?”

William gave another quiet laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”

Mags didn't mind. It was good to have him back. She'd never let her gang out there see her like this, at her most vulnerable, even though any of them that had been around since '71—and there were still a few—probably knew by now. The only other person who really knew, though, was Lizzie. She meant to keep it that way.

* * *

“ _To the Operators that sent in a tape of their own song they'd like me to play on the radio—not a friggin' chance. It killed my dog, man. Like, he literally dropped dead when he heard it.”_

***

Lizzie wasn't sure exactly why the third subject reacted better to the formula than the first two. The only real difference between them and her was this one wasn't a chem addict. Or was there some other factor she wasn't considering? William had kidnapped the first two from a drug den and a blown-out apartment complex. This new one was from a farm to the south. Did that have any bearing?

“Take off your clothes, please,” Lizzie said smoothly.

The formula was still in effect, because Mrs. Farmer, despite looking uncertain, slowly began to remove her clothes.

How unreasonable could Lizzie make her demands? Personally, she thought asking Mrs. Farmer to take off her clothes was rather unreasonable, but maybe she could take it further. She set a combat knife on her desk and pointed to it. “Now I want you to take that knife and cut your arm.”

Mrs. Farmer's eyes widened and she shook her head. “N-no. I'm not—”

“Please,” Lizzie said. “You'll be just fine.”

Mrs. Farmer shook her head again. “I d-don't want to.”

She wondered if the formula was wearing off. Would another dose help her case? What if there was a reaction for too much usage in too short a period of time? In the end, though, Lizzie decided that she didn't have enough for another use today—she had maybe two more doses left, and she still needed to find more fever blossoms. The problem was, she knew some grew in the Galactic Zone, but venturing out there was practically suicide, and Mags didn't know she'd already been out there once before. “Alright. Please put your clothes back on and wait here.” She closed the door behind her, locked it from the outside, and went out into the main room.

Mags was smoking onstage and William was sitting at one of the side tables. Both of them looked at her as she came in.

“Well, this one reacts much more readily to the formula than the first two,” Lizzie said. “There still seems to be a few limitations, but I believe this one will be here for a little while longer.” She looked right at William. “Could you prepare a room for our new guest?”

 

The next day heralded further successes. Lizzie took Mrs. Farmer (who William had taken to calling Annette—Lizzie had forgotten how sentimental he could be) to the market, where she was able to persuade Annette to pickpocket a Disciple. The Disciple had noticed, of course. She let her knife sing and wound up taking a chunk out of Annette's arm before Lizzie could intervene, but a few other Operators managed to pull Annette away and Lizzie hustled her back to the Parlor to stitch her back up. Lizzie was sure to give the description of the Disciple to William—she hated it when people ruined her toys. She didn't know how helpful the description would be since all the Disciples sort of looked the same and they all wore masks anyway, but William seemed certain he could find her anyway.

The incident in the market had given Lizzie an idea for the next test, too—but it would take a few days of preparation.

* * *

“ _A quick note: whoever stole my whiskey bottle, joke's on you. That ain't whiskey! You go right ahead and keep it!”_

***

The Gauntlet was finished. The only time Colter ever came down from the mountain was to fight anyone who managed to survive all the way through. He would invariably splatter the brains of whoever made it to the Cola-Cars arena, which the Pack and the Disciples loved—the Operators were only interested in kills if they were the ones doing the killing. They'd already been in Nuka-World for a year, and Colter _still_ hadn't made a move to start clearing out parks.

And then to top it off, halfway through April, Gage stopped by the Parlor with some unexpected news.

“Grant and Parker are gone,” he said. “No one knows where they are—but there's a new Alpha in the Pack. Just took over a few hours ago. I've already told Nisha and she wants to meet him, so I figure you guys would wanna meet him, too.”

_Oh, great,_ William thought. This would end up either being very bad or very good—and considering their recent run of luck, he was betting on the former rather than the latter.

Mags flicked away her cigarette. “Alright. When and where?”

“In about fifteen minutes, at the Fizztop Grille. Colter will be there, too.”

“Wonderful.”

Gage backed out quickly and William stood up. “Hopefully this new Alpha will start putting some pressure on Colter to get started on the parks.”

“Well, if he was able to drive off Grant and Parker, we might be in luck.”

Mags had started wearing her armor all the time, but William usually took his off once he got back to the Parlor, so it took him a few minutes to put it all back on before he and Mags went to talk to Lizzie.

“What happened?” she asked, looking at them with alarm. They didn't usually come to talk to her together unless something was wrong.

“The Pack has a new Alpha. We're heading to Fizztop to meet him—Nisha, Colter, and Gage are going to be there, too,” Mags explained. “Do you want to come with us?”

Lizzie set down her beakers. “Do you _want_ me to come?”

Mags looked confused. “I do. You're just as much a gang leader as William and me, but I understand if you're busy.”

_For fuck's sake, just tell her you love her already,_ William groaned internally. It had been eighteen years. He figured by this point they would be past this, but apparently, they weren't.

“I can make time for this. Let me just clean up a bit.”

Lizzie took a few minutes to clear away some of the chemicals she was working with—swatting William's hand away from something bubbling on a bunsen burner—and then the three of them headed to Fizztop.

William had only made this journey once before, right into the heart of what had become Disciples territory. He wasn't _afraid_ of them necessarily, but he knew that, if all of the Disciples prowling around decided at once to overwhelm them, they could do it easily. It was concerning. Sure, they wouldn't be able to get away with it, but that wouldn't change the fact that he, Mags, and Lizzie would probably end up dead. He didn't have this kind of worry while walking through Pack territory, either—most likely because the Pack, like the Operators, killed for a reason, whereas the Disciples seem to kill just for the fun of it.

It made William grateful for the armor they all wore. Still, he kept his hand on his rifle as an unspoken warning—the Disciples preferred to use knives, and he had a feeling that if any of them were to try to attack the Operator leaders, they'd use them. As long as they stayed out of melee distance, they'd be alright. That didn't mean he was comfortable with the way the Disciples stared at them—and he could tell they were staring, even through their masks, because their heads turned—as they passed.

“Intimidating, aren't they?” Lizzie asked conversationally once they were safely ensconced in Fizztop. Mags hit the button for the elevator.

“That's why I haven't tried to have Nisha killed yet,” Mags muttered. “She's the only one keeping them in line. Without her, the rest of them will run wild and kill us all.”

“Might be useful to have an informant in there, though. Dixie or Savoy,” William said.

“Dixie won't—I know already. She enjoys the Disciple lifestyle far too much. Savoy, on the other hand... Worth looking into.” Mags tapped her index fingers together. The elevator doors slid open and the three of them stepped in.

They dropped the conversation there—none of them wanted to risk being overheard.

When they exited the elevator into the dimly-lit room at the top of Fizztop, William caught sight of four people sitting around a table—Colter, Gage, Nisha, and—

_Oh, shit._

Mason.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach and he felt his blood run cold.

Mason, too, looked shocked to see William, but he hid it well. At this point, William was just hoping they could both keep their reactions under control until they'd retreated back to their hideouts. So far, no one seemed to notice the way William tensed up.

“Oh, good, the Operators are here,” Gage said. “Mason, this is Mags Black, head of the Operators, and her brother William and their lieutenant Lizzie Wyath. Operators, this is Mason, the Pack's new Alpha.”

The three of them took the three open seats around the table—William ending up next to Mason and Lizzie next to Nisha with Mags between them—but William couldn't process what was happening. There seemed to be a dull roaring in his ears, and he was certain he'd never felt so terrified in his life. It was one thing to be screwing around with some low-ranking Pack nobody, but now that Mason wasn't just some Pack member but the _Alpha_ , that was a huge problem. From where William was sitting, the only person who would benefit from this knowledge was Nisha. Not for the first time, he wondered how Mags and Lizzie would react if— _when—_ they found out, but now it wasn't an idle consideration, but a very real probability. This was one complication he hadn't foreseen.

“So what's going on with the rest of the parks?” Mason asked, bringing William back to reality.

“Well,” Colter started, sounding hesitant, “each park has something disgusting in it, so forming plans to clear them out will take time.”

“Fine,” Mason said, leaning back in his seat. “So what's _in_ these parks? What are we looking at here?”

William was pretty sure he saw Nisha smirking beneath her mask.

Colter waited a second too long to respond.

“I can answer that,” Mags said. “We sent out some scouts awhile back. The park called Kiddie Kingdom is heavily irradiated and has an extremely high concentration of feral ghouls. To complicate matters, there seems to still be a sentient ghoul there who can actually control the ferals—our scouts reported a voice on the speaker system throughout the park that taunted them the moment they crossed the gates. We would most likely need a large group equipped with a good deal of Rad-X and Radaway to clear out the park and get rid of the radiation—the misters in the park seem to be spraying irradiated water.”

“Sounds like a headache,” Nisha muttered.

“Unarguably,” Mags said. “The Galactic Zone presents a different, but equally dangerous threat. It seems that the whole park is overrun with robots and turrets, all of which are hostile. Unfortunately, of the five scouts we sent to check it out, only two came back—the other three were killed. Destroying or deactivating all the robots will take a considerable effort when you account for the sheer number of them and the size of the Galactic Zone itself. Straightforward, but difficult.”

“Shit,” Mason said. “Let me guess, it gets worse?”

“Indeed. The bottling plant, while the most appealing prize, has another problem. The place is infested with strange Mirelurk variant that seems to glow blue, like that Nuka-Cola Quantum stuff. The scouts call them 'Nukalurks.' My assumption is that the river of Quantum has changed them and, unfortunately, made them stronger than the standard Mirelurk. There's no way to determine how many of them there are, but they seem to be both in the 'World of Refreshment' exhibit and in the bottling plant itself. Of course, that hasn't stopped some of our people from trying to bring back some caps from it anyway,” Mags added, looking annoyed.

“I think I heard about that,” Mason said. “Some Pack members went out there, too. Don't think they came back, come to think of it.”

“Seems like that will _also_ take a sizable force to clear out,” said Nisha. “This keeps sounding like more and more fun.”

Mags's face cracked into a smile. “But wait, there's more. Dry Rock Gulch is full of—well, I'm not even sure what to call them, aside from 'disgusting.' Bloodworms, I suppose. They're large, worm-like monsters that burst out of the ground and out of the insides of dead animals. They're reportedly three to four feet long, maybe fifty pounds. The main issue here is that, because they seem to live underground, there's no way to determine how many of them are. They don't seem to be too strong, just gross and plentiful. However, considering these worms seem to have made the park into their colony, there's most likely a queen somewhere in the park that may take considerably more firepower to kill. In my opinion, it might end up being the easiest park to clear out once we find the queen.”

“And the last park?”

“The Safari Zone seems to be overrun with mutated animals. Scouts reported seeing several creatures roughly the same size as Deathclaws roaming the park, and it's likely that there are more than just those few. That's also not taking into account what else might be lurking in the park that we haven't been able to scout out yet, so we want to attempt further reconnaissance. Perhaps with the assistance of the other gangs,” Mags added, leaning back in her seat.

William partially agreed—he didn't like risking all their own people for this, but since they knew the parks better than the other gangs, they'd had the upper hand, at least until now. Still, it was undeniable that it would take all three gangs to clear out these parks. “Maybe the Overboss would be willing to help coordinate a plan?” he said, a subtle jab.

The other four leaders looked amused. Gage seemed nervous—but Colter ground his teeth. Before he could respond, Nisha stood up.

“Well, this has certainly left me with a lot to think about, but it seems like we're done here. I'll leave the Overboss and Gage to decide on our next move,” she said smoothly.

Mags and Mason took her cue and got up as well, William and Lizzie only a moment behind them. “We'll leave you to it as well,” Mags said. The five of them piled into the elevator and headed back down.

As soon as the doors closed on them, the snickering started.

“I don't think I've ever seen Gage look so worried,” Lizzie said.

“And he _should_ be fucking nervous,” Nisha spat. “If he and Colter don't start figuring out something soon—”

“I think it's safe to say we're all planning their murders right now,” Mason said.

“Undoubtedly. It's been seven months. I don't buy this 'taking stock in what we've accomplished' bullshit,” Mags said. “Colter is lazy, plain and simple. That can't be tolerated.”

The elevator doors opened into the lobby of Fizztop. William followed Mags and Lizzie out, resisting the temptation to look back at Mason.

The problem with everyone planning to kill Colter and Gage was that, once they were out of the picture, Nuka-Town would fall into anarchy. It would only be a matter of time before the gangs were all at war with each other. If they were lucky, there would come a time when there was only one gang left standing, and he'd do everything in his power to make sure it was the Operators. Even if it meant he had to kill Mason. He'd hate it, but he would do it.

No matter what, his loyalty was to Mags, Lizzie, and what they'd built for themselves over the last twenty years before anything and anyone else.

 

“What the actual _fuck_?!”

Promptly at eight-fifty-four, William had left the Parlor and headed to the spot where he usually met Mason. He typically arrived about a minute before Mason, but this time, it was the other way around—and Mason looked _pissed_.

“ _How_ many months have we been fucking? Not _once_ did you mention that you're a fucking Operator leader! What the fuck is _that_ all about?”

William disliked immediately going on the defensive like this, but he crossed his arms and snapped, “I figured if you didn't already know, why should I put myself at risk of manipulation unnecessarily?”

“So I have to find out after I become the fucking Alpha?”

“If we're being accusatory here, it would have been nice to know ahead of time that you were planning a coup—”

“Oh, _fuck you_ , it wasn't a _coup_ , it's the way the Pack does things! We've already had nearly a dozen Alphas in the last five years! This is how power is decided—non-lethal pranks to assert dominance!”

William raised his eyebrows. “Non-lethal? Then where are Grant and Parker?”

Mason tensed up suddenly. “How the fuck should I know? Last I saw of them, they were fleeing Nuka-World. Once you're not Alpha anymore, no one gives a shit. Once you run out on the Pack, no one gives a shit. They left, so I'm the Alpha now.”

William wasn't sure he believed Mason's “non-lethal” account, but he didn't feel like pushing it now. “Fine. Well, all things considered, since you _are_ the Alpha now, there's only one person who benefits from this getting out, and that's Nisha.”

“How d'you figure that?”

“Do you really think the Pack or the Operators or, hell, even my own sister are going to trust either of us if they find out?”

Mason was quiet for a few moments. “Fair point.”

“Of course, before this, it was really only me who had to worry about this. I'm pretty sure if Grant and Parker had known who exactly you were involved with, they would have used it to spy on the Operators—and failing that, which they invariably would have, humiliated me and turned the Operators against me instead.”

“For what it's worth, I didn't tell anyone in the first place.”

“If you'd known who I was, would you have still kept that secret?”

“Yeah,” said Mason without a second of hesitation. “My only motivation, believe it or not, was to get laid. Manipulating you or trying to turn you against your gang hadn't even crossed my mind.”

William's gut told him that Mason was telling the truth. He wasn't sure how to feel about that, but a strange sadness came over him. “I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. The smartest move at this point—”

“Let me guess: the smartest move would be ending this.”

William nodded. “The fact that we've made it six months without getting caught is, to me, a miracle. Unfortunately, the stakes are higher now.”

“Might be the smartest thing to do, but I still don't want to,” Mason muttered.

William pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “If we're being honest, I don't want to, either.” He hated admitting it, but it was true, and he didn't want to lie to Mason. It was rare for him to not want to take the smartest course of action, but here he was.

“We should pick a different place. Different time. If anyone's noticed the pattern, they're bound to get suspicious,” Mason said. “Been meaning to bring that up for a few weeks now, but with everything that's been going on, it slipped my mind. Besides,” he added with that familiar smirk that made William's heart pound, “you're awful distracting on your own.”

_I might have to kill him_ , William reminded himself, but it didn't stop him from closing the gap between them and kissing him, which was probably what Mason wanted, judging by the way Mason's arms immediately wrapped around him.

It was only a few minutes longer before he had Mason pressed up against the nearest wall, buried deep inside him, Mason's legs around his waist, fingers in his hair—Mason tugged hard—William groaned, he _loved_ that—he thrust harder—Mason gasped, a high noise in the back of his throat that went straight to William's pulse— _oh, God—_ William shifted him higher, shoving him on the sink to get better leverage, a better angle—Mason cried out—“Fuck, _Will—_ ” William bit down on Mason's shoulder where his shirt could hide it to stifle his moan—Mason's fist, still in his hair, pulled again, spurring him on—“Yes-yes- _yes—_ ” the nails of Mason's free hand raked across his back, across the scars—William shuddered in pain and pleasure—he wrapped his fingers around Mason's cock—Mason's back arched, his head tilting back against the wall, his thighs squeezing William's sides—he came with a choked moan, clinging to William like a lifeline—William rocked his hips once, twice—then he was coming, emptying himself into Mason, panting hard.

For a few long moments, they stayed like that, just trying to catch their breath. William didn't want to go back to reality right now—he wanted to stay like this for hours. If the way Mason was tracing gentle patterns across his back, fingertips dancing over the scars, were any indication, Mason felt the same way. But they couldn't. The longer they lingered, the more likely it was that they'd get caught.

“We have to get out of here,” William murmured.

“Mags killed your parents, right?” Mason said.

William pulled back enough for him to shoot Mason a puzzled look. “Technically speaking, she only killed our mother. I killed our father.”

“Because of the inheritance?”

“Partially.”

“They beat you, didn't they?”

“Just our mother. She hit both of us. Used a belt. Mags has the same scars.”

“So that—”

“That was the other reason. Mags cut her right hand off while she was still alive. We have it in a refrigerator in the Parlor still. In case you thought she was a pushover or she's anything but as vicious and violent as the rest of us—she's not.”

Mason grinned. “If we were all in the same gang, I might have ended up being good friends with her.”

* * *

“ _General announcement: I don't know where this rumor started that my name is Russell, but... well, it's RedEye, okay? Just RedEye. Forget this Russell shit!”_

***

Lizzie drummed her fingers on the tabletop, eyes fixed on the front doors. Next to her, Mags was on her fourth cigarette, her leg bouncing from anxiety. Neither of them had said a word for the past fifteen minutes.

Lizzie didn't know why she was so nervous. What was the worst-case scenario? The test subject breaking out of her trance and trying to flee? That's why they had William perched on the rooftops to watch—he'd kill her if need be.

Of course, killing her in the middle of the crowded market would be sure to cause an uproar, but she was pretty sure it could be smoothed over fairly easily. And of course, hopefully it wouldn't come to that, or else he'd have to go out into the Commonwealth to kidnap another subject.

Then again, this subject was getting rather damaged. It might be time to retire this one and get a new one anyway, especially after Lizzie's pre-test preparations.

“I'm sure it works,” Mags murmured.

“There's a lot of variables in play here,” Lizzie said. “The first unsupervised test—I'm not sure if we were ready.”

“What else could you have done? There's only so much you can do in a lab. Such as it is.”

“More tests. Different subjects. There's a lot I could have done.”

“Time's running out. If this gives us an edge...”

“It might. I suppose we'll see when William gets back. The chem, at least, functions as intended. I'd call that a victory.”

“And I wouldn't disagree with that.”

Lizzie wondered if she should finally bring up what had been eating at her for—well, years, but especially over the past few months, it had been gnawing more and more. Was this the right time? No, she decided. Too many people around, gang members milling around. Besides, William and the test subject could be back at any moment and draw the focus. No, she'd wait. She'd been waiting for nineteen years—she could wait a little longer.

And then the doors swung open and the test subject, sweating and trembling, returned to the Parlor. Lizzie stood up, nearly knocking the chair over in her excitement, and hurried over.

“Thank you,” she said with exaggerated sweetness, placing her hand between the subject's shoulder blades to gently but purposefully steer her toward the kitchen. “We've been running low—you've been such a big help.”

She looked over her shoulder as the doors opened again and William strode in, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. He grinned at her, walked to the stage, and lit a cigarette off the tip of Mags's.

_A resounding success. This is more than I expected._

Pressing harder, she guided the subject through the kitchen doors and closed them behind her. She still had work to do.

* * *

“ _Got a note here: 'The Pack rules!' Okay, sure. And on the back is... no—dammit, Mason, I_ told _you, I am NOT howling!_ Ever _!”_

***

Annette died a few days later from her wounds. Lizzie had valiantly tried to keep her alive, but William had had a feeling as soon as he saw how bloodied she was that she wouldn't last much longer. Lizzie had been disappointed, but she had other plans for the formula she'd concocted, like a generalized test in the market. That had ended up failing, as had her later run into a caravan train, so she asked William to find a few more subjects.

William had managed to track down the Disciple who'd sliced into Annette in the market a few weeks back. He had a feeling she'd want a bit of revenge of her own—and when he told her he'd managed to kidnap her, Lizzie seemed please. “Bring her in then,” she said.

William brought in the Disciple, who he'd dosed with Med-X to make her docile, and tied her to the chair they'd dragged in. “I'll be right outside if you need me,” he said, and left Lizzie alone.

It was all quiet in there for a few minutes, then he heard Lizzie talking. It sounded like she was recording the session, which was unusual.

“So, this will be test eight of the persuasion formula. Our subject here... what'd you say your name was again?”

“Fuck you, Lizzie. When my crew finds out about this, they're going to wear your skin.” It sounded like the Med-X had worn off. It made sense—William had dosed her an hour or so ago.

“Okay, we're just going to call you Eight,” Lizzie said, unruffled. “Eight, would you please stop talking?”

“Go to hell.”

“As you can see, Eight is currently not responsive to my suggestions. Now deploying the formula.” There came a spraying sound, and for a moment, there was silence.

“Uh, what—what the... hey.” The Disciple sounded pretty well affected, and William relaxed slightly.

“Hey yourself. Eight, how do you feel right now?”

“Fine. Good, I guess.”

“Excellent. Now, Eight, I'm going to untie your arm.”

“Okay.”

“Now, Eight, I want you to hit yourself.”

“Hit myself?” The Disciple sounded unsure.

“Please,” Lizzie said, rather pleasantly.

There came a thud, and Eight gasped with pain.

“Again, please. Harder this time.”

There was a louder hitting sound. Eight yelped.

“That's perfect. Thank you, Eight. You can stop now.”

“Thank you,” Eight murmured.

“You're welcome. Eight, I'm going to untie you. Now, if you wouldn't mind—Eight! What're you—?” Lizzie grunted, and William felt a flicker of fear as pulled out his handgun and flicked the safety off. He didn't usually use it anymore, but his rifle would be overkill at this point. Besides, he didn't want to accidentally hit Lizzie.

“Are you an idiot?” Eight snapped. “Did you really think that shit would work?”

William opened the door quietly. The Disciple had her back to the door and Lizzie was on the ground, her arm wrapped around her stomach. William leveled his pistol at the back of the Disciple's head.

“I'm going to eat your—”

William pulled the trigger and the Disciple slumped to the floor, a gaping hole through her head.

“Thank you, William,” Lizzie said, fumbling for the holotape recorder. “I—I'm going to need a minute before you bring in number nine.” She stopped recording and William held out a hand to help her to her feet.

“For the best. Don't have any new subjects right now anyway. I'll head out there tomorrow. In the meantime, I need to get rid of this,” he added, nudging what was left of the Disciple with his foot. “Are you alright?”

“A bit shaken. But you're right. Maybe it _is_ for the best. I think this batch went bad.” Lizzie held what was left of the bottle up to the light. “I need to make some more. I'll need a few days for that, I think.” She set down the bottle and dragged her nails through her hair. “At least Mags didn't witness that. I feel like a fool.”

“I was worried she was going to kill you.”

“She was unarmed, wasn't she?” Lizzie pointed out.

“She was. Doesn't mean she wouldn't have found some way to kill you, though.”

“I supposed that's true.” She sighed. “Still, even if that batch had functioned as intended, I'm not certain it would have affected her like it did Annette. We seem to be better off with farmers. Where were you going to find the next subject?”

“Oberland Station. There's only three people there, and they don't seem to be well-armed in the slightest.”

“Excellent. Thank you.”

* * *

“ _Got a note here for N.I.R.A., which... now that I read this, is a friggin' love letter? Are you shittin' me? N.I.R.A.'s a robot, you idiot!”_

***

They were getting restless—they all were. Not just the Disciples, not just the Pack. Even her Operators, even William, even her. The only one who seemed immune was Lizzie, but that was most likely because she had her experiments to keep her busy, even after the subject, the one they called “Annette,” died.

Mags sometimes wandered Nuka-Town, and she could practically hear the growling rising out of throats, like every raider in the park was a dog. Not for the first time, she contemplated the foolishness of forcing three rival gangs to live in such close proximity to each other, and she wondered if choosing the Parlor, right in between the amphitheater and Fizztop, was the smartest choice.

But it was too late now, and her gang was itching for a fight, a _real_ fight. It had been months since most of them had traded more than a few shots, and besides, she knew the Pack and the Disciples had already taken a few of her own.

_Dogs, indeed._ Maybe they were. She'd heard Mason using that term for them before—so maybe it was time to let hers off the proverbial leash again.

So she sent William out with a small group to get another test subject for Lizzie, telling him to “have some fun.” He'd smirked and nodded, clear on her meaning, and left a few hours later. His team had barely been gone four hours when she assembled nearly three dozen more Operators. Five she sent north, five west, five east. The rest she sent back into the Commonwealth, telling them to hit the Stockpile, Olivia, Corvega. “Kill anyone you come across. Blow off some steam. Bring us back something nice. And if you get into it with any Pack or Disciples out there, make sure you kill them all.”

They didn't need telling twice. The squads split up and left the Parlor, leaving it nearly empty save a few who'd volunteered to stay behind for guard duty, Lizzie, and Mags herself.

* * *

“ _I hear Dixie is looking for volunteers for target practice. And I quote: 'Fun will be had by all.' I, uh, I'd think twice before raising my hand for that one.”_

***

The park was a powder keg. In the last few months, the only thing that had changed was the irritation level—everyone was more on-edge than ever. Mags had silently given Colter and Gage until the end of the year to get their shit together.

Come January first, if they weren't moving on at least one of the parks, they'd be dead.

William was still disappearing in the evenings, but Mags never said anything. She was fairly certain he was involved with someone, but she trusted him. He could have his secrets. His loyalty and Lizzie's were both above question.

For her part, she'd sent Haylie over to the Disciples camp a few months back to see if she could seduce Savoy and sway him into turning informant for them, but that hadn't worked. Just in case, she tried again with Brian in case he was more Savoy's type, but the results were the same. Once Brian had come back shaking his head, Mags had come to the conclusion that Savoy only had eyes for one person, and that was the woman he was already working for. It had been a valiant attempt, but ultimately pointless.

She'd just begun to contemplate how best to attack the Disciples should the need arise when Gage appeared in the Parlor, much to her surprise. “Gage,” she said, standing up. “To what do we owe the honor?”

Gage looked from Mags to William and back. “Somewhere we can talk?”

Mags and William exchanged looks, then led Gage into their room just off the stage in the main room.

Once the door was shut behind them, William said, “What is it?”

“Colter's gotta go.”

Mags almost laughed. “Just figured that out, did you?”

“No, actually, I knew that months ago. I was just hopin' I could salvage this mess. But I don't think it's gonna happen.”

“So what do you propose?”

“The Gauntlet. We get people comin' through all the time. Someone makes it to the end, takes out Colter, becomes the new Overboss, and we get the ball rolling on these parks.”

“No one's been able to put a scratch on him in the Gauntlet,” Mags said. “He's got his power armor hooked up to the arena.”

“I've already got a plan for that in place and I already told Nisha about this, too. Water and electricity don't mix—gonna use that. Now all we need to do is wait.”

“We've _been_ waiting,” Mags said icily. “It's been a year. So you'd better hope that some Wastelander makes it through that Gauntlet and kills Colter soon, or else it won't just be Colter on the chopping block.”

Gage grinned, although she detected a hint of worry. “Nisha's already threatened me, too, and I bet Mason'll do the same. I'm not worried.”

William crossed his arms over his chest. “You should be.”

Gage looked from one to the other and then quickly backed out of the room. As soon as Mags heard the front door to the Parlor open and close again, she let out a frustrated sigh and pulled out her cigarettes. “He'd better pray his little plan works.”

“I'm not counting on it. I'm just hoping we get our hands on them before the Pack or the Disciples.”

She chuckled, stepping back out into the main dining room. “Imagining Nisha's fury if we kill them first is incredibly satisfying.”

* * *

“ _A general note: to all the assholes sending in notes saying_ you _can do my job better than_ I _can... I'll see you all in hell.”_

***

A month came and went. Nothing happened—of the handful of Wastelanders that made it through the Gauntlet, not a single one of them managed to survive combat with Colter. The only thing that changed was Diamond City Radio in the first week of November—after suffering through Travis's shitty DJ work for three years, he made a complete one-eighty, crediting some vault-dweller who'd apparently helped him change his perspective. Mags didn't particularly care, but at least when William got sick of listening to RedEye (which happened frequently), they weren't both cringing at Diamond City Radio anymore.

So when, in the second week of November, the alarms for the Gauntlet started blaring again, Mags had no indication that it would be any different. She and William headed to the Cola-Cars Arena along with a decent portion of their gang and filed in with the other gangs. They only had to wait about fifteen minutes before they found out that the Wastelander had actually made it through the rest of the Gauntlet and would now face Colter. The Overboss climbed into his Power Armor and Gage went to the terminal outside of the arena to wait for the challenger.

“Ten caps says Colter splatters this one in under thirty seconds,” William muttered to her.

Always happy to take his bets—even when she knew she'd lose—she smirked and held out her hand to shake on it. “Done.”

The Wastelander sprinted into the arena the moment the door opened, huffing a canister of Jet, tossing it aside, and pulling out a—

A fucking _Thirst-Zapper_?

“What—is that a squirt gun?” RedEye roared, providing color commentary over the shouting of the crowd.

The most unbelievable part was that it seemed to be _working—_ as soon as the water from the Thirst-Zapper hit Colter's Power Armor, sparks flew, Colter let out a pained shout, and the Wastelander swapped out the toy for a bladed baseball bat. Four strikes, and Colter staggered—they all heard him yell, “Gage, if you're behind this—!” but the next blow didn't seem to faze him. The Wastelander pulled out the Thirst-Zapper again and blasted Colter with more water.

“Ooh, can you say 'technical difficulties'?” RedEye crowed with obvious delight.

And so it went—suddenly, the whole crowd was on its feet, shouting and stomping, even the Operators, who usually didn't care about Colter's show of slaughtering Wastelanders. Even Mags had to admit, though, that suddenly Gage's plan didn't seem so terrible. The Wastelander kept attacking, Colter kept stumbling, and it was almost art. Whoever this person was, they clearly had a taste for violence. They knocked Colter's helmet off, and with one final, hard swing, bashed in the side of his head.

Mags and William exchanged glances. Suddenly, the future didn't seem quite so clear. She'd been counting on killing Colter and Gage herself—but Gage's plan had actually worked, Colter was dead, and they had a new Overboss.

“ _This_ should be interesting,” William murmured.

“Lizzie will be pleased.”

William chuckled and nudged her.

“Holy shit! I don't—I don't even know what this means!” RedEye was still spluttering in disbelief. “Colter, man, he's out! Gage, what the hell just happened?”

“You saw it,” Gage said from behind the other section of glass. “We all saw it! Colter's dead. We've got ourselves a new Overboss.”

The Wastelander picked off the pieces of Colter's Power Armor and stashed them, and then muttered something to their companion, a red-haired woman with a mean look about her.

“This guy?” Mason asked, prowling in front of the rest of the Pack. “Are you sure, Gage?”

Nisha sounded skeptical, too. “You'd better know what the hell you're doing.”

The Wastelander, face mostly obscured by sunglasses and a bandana, looked around at them. He had dirty-blond hair that skimmed his shoulders and it looked like there was a fresh, still-bleeding cut down the left side of his face. He seemed small to Mags, his shoulders narrow and lanky—how he had managed to overpower Colter was a mystery to her.

“Hey! We talked about this! He survived the Gauntlet. He was smart enough to take my advice, and strong enough to kill Colter. He's what we need. So how about we show some respect for our new leader, eh?”

“He'll _get_ respect when he _earns_ respect,” Mags drawled, crossing her arms. She recalled saying something similar to Gage about Colter a year ago—and that hadn't panned out so well for him, either.

“Amen,” William agreed.

“All right, all right, now get the hell out of here,” Gage said as the crowd continued to shake the chain-link and shout. “I'll show the boss around.”

Mags and William exchanged glances and slipped out of the arena, throwing their elbows to shove their way through.

“I honestly didn't think Gage's plan was going to work,” William said once they were outside and heading back to the Parlor.

“I didn't, either. Didn't figure on any Wastelander being smart enough to take his advice _and_ strong enough to actually take down Colter.”

“Might be a good thing.”

“Might be. Might also be the same rotten garbage in a new package. He's not even a raider. This could end very badly for us. Could be some do-gooder like those Minutemen.”

William snorted with derision. “Except they've been defunct for five years now.”

They pushed open the doors to the Parlor and strolled in. “Turn on the radio,” Mags called. “I'm sure RedEye has his own commentary.”

One of the Operators flipped on the radio as Mags and William headed to the stage.

“ _I need you here to make me whole...”_ The song faded out and for a few moments, there was silence. And then— _“Ah, I ain't gonna lie to you all—love hurts. It really does. I mean, that's what my friend said, when he told me the story, and then I went and wrote a song about it. Whatever... Nisha's asked that I pass this along: 'Mags, steal from us again and we'll redecorate Fizztop with Operator blood.' Yikes, sounds personal.”_

Mags smirked. “Sounds like someone's a little jealous.”

“She knows better than to try anything,” William said.

RedEye went into “One Last Score,” and Mags lit up a cigarette as she waited for the song to finish. She pointed at one of the Operators lingering near the doors. “Hey. Go shadow our new Overboss—find out a little about him. Just don't make it too obvious. See what you can dig up.”

“Sure thing, Mags,” he said, and hurried out the door.

“Wait, did I hear that correctly?”

Mags turned. Lizzie was scrambling to the door separating the main room of the Parlor with the kitchen.

“Did—did someone actually kill Colter?”

Mags nodded. “Gage's little plan worked. Some Wastelander was able to short out his Power Armor and take him out. It was quite the show, actually.”

“I almost wish I could have been there. It would have been nice to see that fool get his comeuppance.”

Mags smirked. “It was extremely gratifying.”

“That reminds me,” William said. He fished around in his pocket and plunked a handful of caps down on the table. “I owe you ten caps, sis. I really thought that was going to be just another slaughter.”

“It was, just not what we were expecting,” Mags said. She pocketed the caps as RedEye finished his song and started talking again.

“ _Hey, it's your main man RedEye here, sending out some big congratulations to our brand-new Overboss. That's right—if you haven't heard, Colter is toast! He's worm food! Not only did someone survive the Gauntlet, but he took on Colter and won! I already hear people talking about some secret agreement between Gage and the gangs, saying whoever took down Colter would take his place. You believe that?!_ I _didn't vote for this guy! Why does_ he _get to be Overboss? I mean, hell, if I'd known they were looking for somebody, I would've thrown_ my _name into that hat, you know what I'm saying? Well, whatever. I can't wait to see what our new leader has planned. At least, can't be any worse than Colter, right? Right?... It's RedEye here, running Raider Radio. You love it, and you know it.”_

“Can you even imagine that sniveling little shit as Overboss?” Mags muttered. “Thank God it wasn't him.”

“I'd have killed him before he made it out of the arena—to hell with anything Gage had planned,” William agreed.

RedEye's voice went on, _“…Got a note here from...well, I guess it's someone in the Pack. It's a drawing... of William Black, and that's—”_

Both Mags, William, and Lizzie all turned to stare at the radio. The whole Parlor had gone deathly silent.

“ _Uh, ooh, uh, okay, no—I'm tearin' this up.”_ A moment later came the sound of ripping paper. _“So, I was thinkin' about—”_

“Turn it off,” William said, and the radio was promptly turned off.

“I have to admit, I'm a little curious,” Lizzie said.

“It's probably for the best that RedEye destroyed the evidence,” Mags said. William looked irritated.

“Probably. So when do we get to meet this new Overboss?” Lizzie asked.

“Soon, I hope. If Gage has any sense, he'll send the Overboss to come talk to us in person. Hopefully it's not the same shitshow as when Mason became Alpha—if I have pretend to be civil with either one of them—”

William paused in the middle of lighting his own cigarette. “He came to us individually last time. I think he realizes getting all of us in one place is dangerous.”

Lizzie bit her lip. “I still don't trust Gage.”

“Of course not. Why would _any_ of us trust him? He's looking out for himself.”

Mags went back to pacing the stage and William sat down; both of them started chain-smoking while they waited for the other shoe to drop. Lizzie waited for about ten minutes before ducking back into the kitchen to continue her testing.

It was nearly two hours before the Operator they'd sent out returned, and he had nearly nothing. “Sorry, Mags. There wasn't much. All anyone's turned up so far is that he's got that Pip-Boy on his arm.”

The front door slammed as someone either came in or left the Parlor.

“So our new Overboss is a vault-dweller,” Mags said. This _should be interesting._

“Or _iced_ a vault-dweller,” William pointed out.

“Hmm. You can go.” As the Operator walked away, Mags caught sight of someone who was definitely _not_ an Operator lingering near the doors to the main room. As soon as she saw him, he walked over to her. Even though she'd only gotten a glimpse of him in the poor lighting in the Cola-Cars Arena, she was certain this was the new Overboss.

He still didn't look like much—he was short, an inch or two shorter than she was, and he still had the sunglasses and skull bandana on. The cut across his face wasn't bleeding anymore, but it still looked raw. He was wearing body armor, which meant he was even slighter than he looked. How had _he_ managed to kill Colter in his power armor?

“Hey there,” he said, sliding his sunglasses up and into his hair and pulling his bandana down. He had a scruffy, dirty-blond beard and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. The beard and the other scars—two others down the left side and another across his right cheek—made him look rough, which was hilariously at-odds with the air of innocence his freckles lent him. “I'm Apollo.”

“Well. I suppose we all owe you for putting down Colter.”

“Man was an idiot,” William said. “Made us all look bad.”

Mags chuckled. “A clown, stuck in his own little car. I guess we can take some solace in the fact that someone finally gave him what he deserved. I want to know—what did you feel as you did it? When you brought that walking pile of human garbage to his knees?”

Apollo made an amused sound, smirking. “Taking down an opponent like that, it's thrilling.”

“Sure looked it,” William said, nodding.

_For a vault-dweller, he seems used to combat._ “Hmm. Perhaps you're better suited to this than I expected. Regardless, Gage's decree means that you're the new Overboss. I suppose we can only hope you work out better than the last one. I'm Mags. This is my brother, William.”

“Pleasure,” William said.

“Along with our co-conspirator Lizzie, we run this crew. Call ourselves The Operators. You'll come to understand soon enough that we are the only gang you should be backing around here. Because we're the only ones who see this place for what it is. A temple. A testament to the only thing that matters in this world.”

“Making money?” Apollo guessed.

“Exactly. Caps. This place was built for the sole purpose of taking caps out of the pockets of fools. We only joined Gage and Colter's little menagerie in order to restore it to that goal... though by somewhat more cutthroat methods than I expect its founders intended.”

“Instead, Colter had us sitting on our asses for the better part of a year while he lived large in his damn mountaintop,” William said bitterly.

“And that means if you're going to be in charge around here, we'd like some assurances that you intend to bring this place back to its true purpose. And that _we're_ going to get back to robbing folks of their fucking money.”

“My goal's to use this place to make all the money I can,” Apollo said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well, it's about damn time,” William said.

Mags wasn't quite convinced. “Hmm. I look forward to seeing your claims put into action. So, you're welcome in the Parlor whenever you like. Make yourself at home. And if you think you might be interested in running some jobs for us, you just come speak to me. And we'll all be anxiously awaiting getting this place back to doing what it does best.”

Apollo nodded and slid his sunglasses and bandana back on. Without another word, he strolled out of the Parlor.

Mags turned to William, who was watching the new Overboss leave—more specifically, he was watching the Overboss's ass. “Good God,” she muttered as the door closed behind Apollo. He might not have been Mags's type, but it looked like he was William's.

“What?” he asked, finally pulling his gaze away.

“I saw that.”

“And I assume you saw _him_ , too.”

“That's not the point. He's the Overboss, and we don't even know how this is going to shake out. It could still end very poorly for us, no matter what promises he's made.”

“Nothing wrong with looking,” William said stubbornly.

“No, I suppose not. Appearance aside, though, what do you think of him?”

“He seems more driven to accomplish something than Colter was. Then again, he saw where Colter's idleness got him.”

“Indeed. I'm just hoping he'll do right by the Operators.”

“ _Someone's_ going to get screwed when it comes to the parks.”

“I know. Let's hope it's the Pack or the Disciples.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

_“Who wants some good news? You? Is it you? 'Cause I got some! I say 'Kiddie Kingdom,' and you immediately think, what? Ghouls, right? Well, think again, half-wits! Not only did the Overboss wade in there and wipe 'em out, he was nice enough to take the one ghoul left with half a brain and give him a friggin' job, d'you believe that? The Disciples are now kings—er, I guess,_ queens— _of the castle out there, so you lot play nice!”_

***

“Shit,” William muttered. “He gave _them_ Kiddie Kingdom?”

Mags was irritated, too, but it wasn't the worst thing in the world. “I'm fine with not having our people in a park previously infested with ferals. Besides, the bottling plant is the real prize out there.”

Lizzie, out in the dining room for once, stared at the radio as RedEye started singing again. “At least he's moving on the parks. He's doing more than Colter did, at any rate.”

She was right, although Mags couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in her chest. If the Overboss had started with the Disciples, she had less hope for the rest of the parks.

* * *

_“The Operators would like me to announce that they're hosting a free dinner for all gang members interested in... nope, they're trying to poison you. Don't go to that.”_

***

Mags's eyes flew open and for a second, she couldn't remember where she was. It wasn't until she heard the radio bleeding out from the dining room that she realized she was still in the Parlor, and that she was still alive.

This was the second night in a row she'd had this nightmare. It started the same way: the new Overboss, having cleared out all the parks in Nuka-World, had decided to move on Commonwealth territories while the gangs all started setting up in the power plant to finally get the electricity going. The Operators had waited and waited, but after three different outposts had been set up, it was clear that Apollo had no intentions of handing any land over to them—the Disciples, the Pack, and the Disciples again. Furious, she and William had swiped the plant keys, taken a force of fifty gang members, and taken over the plant.

Mags, sitting up in bed, rubbed her eyes and tried to force the dream out of her head, but the memories just kept coming. The Overboss, finding out from Shank what she and William had done—Gage muttering, “Mags oughta know better. The hell's she thinkin'?”—Nisha and Mason gearing up for a fight and heading out—the Overboss storming the Parlor and gunning down the few they'd left behind—blowing Lizzie's head clean off (she had to wipe away a few tears as she remembered that; she wanted to scream)—meeting Nisha and Mason—their conversation—

_“Looks like Mags and William are dug in pretty well up there,” Mason said. “We gonna go up there and pull their asses out?”_

_“Or even better,” countered Nisha, “kill them where they stand. Either way, looks like we're about to find out... the boss is here.”_

_“While you were out there doing your thing, Mags and William got all the Operators together and took over the Power Plant. If those idiots think they're gonna get away with this, they're dead wrong. I'll skin them alive!”_

_“Those spoiled little shits,” Gage muttered. “Still actin' like fuckin' children.”_

_“I can't leave this place for five minutes without everything going to hell,” Apollo snarled._

_“Hey now,” Mason snapped, “if you're looking to blame someone, they're up in that goddamn power plant taking potshots at us as we speak! Word came back from the Commonwealth that you're favoring the Pack and the Disciples. Well surprise, surprise—Mags and William didn't take the news so well. They took their gang and muscled into the power plant. Now they got the entire place locked down. You better not let them get away with this, boss. We want payback, and we want it now!”_

_“And we're not talking about some slap on the wrist here,” Nisha added. “Mags and William need to pay for what they've done. They were dead the moment they decided to take out some of my crew.”_

_“Look, boss,” Mason went on, “this is your play. You've had our back, so we'll watch yours. But you have to swear to us that Mags and William will pay.”_

_“They're as good as dead,” Apollo promised._

_“We're with you on this. All the way.”_

_“The Disciples will make sure no one escapes. I'm going to enjoy this.”_

The four of them—the Overboss, Gage, Nisha, and Mason—had moved out, moved on the power plant, mowed down every Operator they came across, until they reached the roof. Mags had been sure they could take them down until the Overboss had started shooting. He'd stared her down through the sights of his rifle and then swung his aim to fix on William.

Her brother had put up a good fight—even after taking nearly a dozen rounds from the Overboss, he was still on his feet, barely, grunting, “Have to—have to try harder than that—what else you got?” but the Overboss kept shooting, and Mags saw, as if she were on Jet, William toppling over, sinking to his knees, his armor in tatters, his body riddled with bullet holes. “God dammit...” he muttered, and then he was facedown and Mags could _feel_ that he was dead, she could practically sense as the life fled from him, and she wanted to scream again, like half of her was already gone.

At that point in her dream—although she hadn't known it was a dream—she knew it was over. The Overboss, Gage, Nisha, and Mason were all still alive and her Operators were falling—William was dead—she was still shooting, screaming, “You'll pay for that!” but she knew she would be dead in a matter of moments. _We came into this world together. It only makes sense that we'd go out together._ She felt every bullet from the Overboss's rifle like a punch, ripping through her, knew she wouldn't last much longer, and then she felt one last round hit her squarely between the eyes and then there was nothing.

At least, until she'd woken up and realized it was just a horribly vivid dream.

She looked over at William, still fast asleep. One arm was thrown over his eyes, but his chest still rose and fell with his breathing. She wished she could fall back asleep, but this dream, twice in as many nights, made her terrified to shut her eyes, so she got dressed as quietly as possible and went into the dining room.

A few of her gang were still up, talking quietly at the far tables. The kitchen, however, was empty, which meant Lizzie was still asleep, too. Mags stuck her head in Lizzie's room, just to verify that Lizzie, too, was still alive.

She was—lying on her side, hair falling in her face, eyes twitching, but still breathing, still alive.

Mags went back into the dining room and lit a cigarette. What if her dream wasn't a dream at all, but a premonition? She had a sinking feeling in her gut ever since, three days before, the Overboss had claimed the Safari Zone for the Pack. That left three parks, and so far, the Operators weren't on the map.

_That's fine. The next one will be ours. Only two parks cleared out. The next one is ours._

She sat out there for an hour, listening to the radio and RedEye going through the same two news bulletins over and over when “The Legend of Atlas” finished up and he said, _“Listen up, all you junkies, low-lives, and all-around assholes! We've got a reason to celebrate! In case you haven't heard, the Overboss has cleared out Dry Rock Gulch, and it's all ours! By the Overboss's decree, the Disciples are now in charge out there! So if you're on their bad side, might want to think twice before—”_

Mags snapped off the radio, shaking with rage. _He's going to fuck us over, isn't he?_ The other Operators who were still in the dining room were exchanging glances, but she could tell they were all thinking the same thing. What would they do if the Overboss actually stiffed them? It was unconscionable.

She had a feeling that her dream would come true. She saw no other way around it. The Overboss would fuck them over, and it was either roll over or fight back. They couldn't just let it slide, not an insult like that. So they'd fight back. They'd probably die, but they'd fight all the same.

Mags stood up, flicked her cigarette away, and went back to her and William's room. Slowly, mechanically, she pulled off her armor and sat down on the edge of her bed. “I promise you,” she whispered, looking at him from across the room, “you won't die alone.”

William pulled his arm from over his eyes, turned his head, and looked at her. “Wha's goin' on?” he mumbled. “What time is it?”

“It's four in the morning. The Overboss just claimed another park.”

William blinked. “Which one?”

“Dry Rock Gulch.”

He looked almost hopeful. “Operators?”

“The Disciples.”

The hopeful expression flickered, turned puzzled, and then his brows furrowed in anger. “Motherfucker. Is he really—”

“We'll discuss it in the morning. I'm already working on a contingency plan.”

“If he fucks us over—”

“I know.” She would wait. She would tell him and Lizzie about her dream if the next park wasn't claimed for them, either.

* * *

_“Here's an announcement from Mags Black: 'To the Disciple who found a red ribbon on her bunk this morning, you know what you did—as do we.' God, she even_ writes _like a—sorry, mic is still on.”_

***

“The bottling plant is still unclaimed,” Lizzie pointed out. “Maybe he's saving that one for us.”

“I wouldn't count on it,” William said. “The pattern says that the next park will be for the Pack.”

“A pattern of three isn't much of a pattern,” Lizzie countered. “Besides, he could be clearing out the easier parks first. And let's face it—the Pack was pretty much _meant_ to have the Safari Zone.”

“I still don't like it. The Galactic Zone and the bottling plant better _both_ have Operator flags in front of them, or else we're going to have some serious problems,” William spat.

Mags leaned up against the counter, listening to William and Lizzie bickering. If her dream came true, if they stormed the power plant and the Overboss killed them all, she'd try to remember this as she died—remember being with the only two people who'd ever meant anything to her. At the end of the day, their blood and the blood of everyone in the Operators would be on her hands, because this would be entirely her decision. It would be the end, she knew—the end for all of them.

She wished she could go back to nearly two years ago, back before they signed on for this, and tell herself not to do it. If she'd known back then that it would shake out like this, she would have dropped it right then and there. It wasn't worth it, but they were too far in now to back out. If they tried to abandon Nuka-World now, they'd never be taken seriously again. Besides, they were a step above the Commonwealth raiders now—if they went back, they'd lose everything they'd gained.

It was too late. She just hoped there was some kind of afterlife, because thirty-four years with William and thirty with Lizzie wasn't enough. Not for her. But then again, maybe all the time in the world wouldn't be enough.

* * *

_“Hey, hey, got an update for all you louses out there. You know how the bottling plant has been chock-full of Nukalurks since we got here? Like, I personally know at least three jackasses who got themselves killed trying to loot the place. Anyway, that ain't a problem no more. Our new Overboss has been good to his word and taken over the plant. At the Overboss's orders, the Operators are now in charge out there. If you're on good terms with them, maybe they'll share some caps with you. If you're not on good terms, well, your loss, man.”_

***

“It's about fucking time,” William said. He and Mags exchanged relieved looks, but he still wasn't feeling comfortable. True, they had the park they _really_ wanted, but the Disciples still had more territory than they did. That made William _very_ uneasy.

He wasn't sure how much more comfortable he'd feel if it was the Pack instead of the Disciples, but it looked like the Overboss was favoring Nisha's crew above the others, and if William knew Mags and Mason—and he did—they were both already thinking of plans to strike back at the Overboss in case he screwed them over.

He and Mason tried not to discuss gang business when they met. After Mason became Alpha, they knew they were both skating on thin ice, and they didn't want gang-related rivalries to get in their way. Besides, if either the Operators or the Pack got shafted, they both knew they'd end up on opposing sides of the fight. It was safer and easier for both of them if they kept their relationship on a sexual level and kept everything else compartmentalized away from it.

Unfortunately for William, that was a lot easier said than done. Despite his best efforts, after over a year, he was feeling that once-familiar sensation of being in love. He found his thoughts wandering to Mason at the most inopportune times, wondering what he'd have to say about something, trying to figure out how to see a little more of him—Mason seldom ventured to the market since he'd become Alpha and was now more involved in the day-to-day running of the gang.

He tried to imagine what would happen if they were pitted against each other and one of them found themselves on the business end of the other's rifle. He almost hoped that it would be Mason behind the trigger, because he wasn't so certain now that he'd be able to pull it.

“There's still the Galactic Zone,” Mags said. “I have a feeling that one is going to be important.”

Lizzie rubbed her temples. “I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that the Overboss is clearing out these parks all by himself. Weren't we thinking it would take entire detachments?”

“He's got Gage with him,” William pointed out. “The man took out a super mutant with a Molotov cocktail.”

Mags's eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “ _That's_ where I recognized him from! He was the raider we saw when—”

“When we snuck out of Diamond City,” Lizzie finished, looking astonished. “That's been bothering me for months!”

“I think it's the eye patch,” William said. “He must have lost that eye sometime in the past twenty-two years.” He'd had the nagging feeling he'd seen Gage somewhere before, but it wasn't until just a few weeks ago that he'd replayed that particular memory in his head and the pieces had fallen into place. It was strange that the man who'd inspired them to be raiders in the first place was here now, in charge of them in a way.

The bizarre turn of events was clearly not lost on Mags or Lizzie. They exchanged stunned glances and he wondered if they were ever planning to actually talk. But then Mags said, “Super mutant or not, the fact that it's just the two of them who got rid of all those ghouls, killed those animals in the Safari Zone, cleared out the Nukalurks and the bloodworms—the Overboss clearly isn't a stranger to combat. Him taking down Colter should have made that obvious. So if we were to ever go up against him—”

“And why would we do that?” Lizzie asked quietly.

“If we don't get the Galactic Zone—if it goes to the Disciples or the Pack—we're not going to just roll over and take it,” William said.

“Didn't we know that one of the gangs was going to get screwed over?” Lizzie said. “We got the biggest prize—the bottling plant, and all the caps therein. That's nothing to turn up your nose at.”

“If he gives it to the fucking Disciples, I am going to gut Nisha myself,” Mags hissed. “Three parks to her and only one to the Operators? One to the Pack? He's playing favorites, and I don't fucking like it.”

“Love, all I'm saying is that, if we don't get this last park, it might be because the Overboss has something better planned,” Lizzie said patiently. “We were all on pins and needles waiting for the outcome of the bottling plant, and it came to us. It would be foolish to get worked up this early.”

William hid his grin behind his hand when Lizzie called Mags “love.” They didn't usually throw around affectionate nicknames like that, which told him that Lizzie was purposely trying to calm Mags down.

And it seemed to work—whether it was her logic or the name, Mags's shoulders relaxed slightly (although it was a bit difficult to see due to her armor) and she rubbed the heel of her hand over the scar through her eyebrow. One of her anxious tics. “Perhaps you're right. I'm not going to stop making contingency plans, of course, but jumping to conclusions is needlessly foolish.”

“Besides,” William said, propping his elbows up on the table, “maybe the Overboss is just trying to keep the Disciples happy until he decides to put them down like the butchers they are.”

Mags smirked. “Now _there's_ a delightful thought.”

* * *

_“Hey, anybody listening? Got some good news for you! All those damn robots in the Galactic Zone? No longer a problem, thanks to our kick-ass Overboss! And the Overboss has decided to leave the Galactic Zone in the hands of... the Operators! Maybe with something to do, they won't be so damn_ bored _all the time. And if it's ours, do you all realize what this means? Nuka-World! It all belongs to us! All of it! Hell yeah, man!”_

***

The radio bled into the kitchen loud and clear. At the beginning of RedEye's announcement, Lizzie's grip on her beaker had tightened as her attention was drawn away from her work. It wasn't until he'd said what she'd been waiting for—that the Operators had another park—that she finally relaxed and realized how hard she'd been squeezing the beaker in the first place. She set it down on the chemistry bench and strode out into the main dining room, where Mags was sitting with a triumphant smirk on her face.

“You heard that?” she asked.

Lizzie nodded, a smile starting to creep onto her own face. “Looks like the Pack are the ones the Overboss doesn't like.”

“It's a bit of a shame, really. We could probably have collared Mason—he's easier to control. Nisha, on the other hand...”

“It's better than the alternative,” Lizzie said. “The one where we're at the bottom of the heap.”

“True. Given the choice, I'll take this over either of the other gangs getting the Galactic Zone.”

Lizzie sat down next to Mags and absently stared at the radio for a few moments. “Where's William?”

“I don't expect him back until eleven-thirty or so,” Mags said. “He's always out for a few hours right around now.”

“Doing what?”

Mags shrugged. “I don't ask. I figure, after the James debacle, the man's entitled to keep a few things to himself.”

“You think he's seeing someone?”

“Almost definitely.”

“But why would he want to keep that a secret?”

“Probably,” Mags said, dropping her voice to a murmur, “because whoever he's seeing isn't an Operator.”

“You think he's screwing around with someone from another gang?” Lizzie hissed, shocked.

“Or a trader, but I find that extremely unlikely. He has better taste than that.”

“You do realize that, if he _is_ seeing someone from another gang, it's probably someone in the Pack? Most of the Disciples aren't exactly his type.”

“I know.” Mags sounded surprisingly calm considering what they were discussing. “Listen, the three of us have been working for this for over two decades. His loyalty, your loyalty—above question. I know that, if it comes down to it, he'll side with us over anyone he might be fucking. I trust him.”

“I can't argue with that logic,” Lizzie murmured, “but I still don't like it.”

“Trust me, I'd prefer if he were involved with someone from the Operators, too. But... well, he was in a bad way for awhile. He seems to be getting over it. I'd rather have my brother still here and coherent than high out of his mind on Med-X or staring down his rifle.”

“When you put it like that, I have no choice but to agree.”

Mags put her hand on top of Lizzie's and squeezed. Lizzie's heart soared and she hated it despite the warmth that flooded through her.

“You two are the only people I have. I'd burn it all down to keep you happy.”

_Tell her. Tell her!_ But the words stuck in Lizzie's throat. She wasn't sure how to even start to say what she wanted to, how to begin to explain to Mags what she meant to her. It had been twenty years—she should have figured it out by now—but every time she thought about it, she got nervous and wanted to hide behind her experiments.

She was sure William had been nudging her to tell Mags for years now—of course he knew, he'd guessed so long ago—but she wasn't good at baring her soul. Not like this, anyway.

And then Mags let go of her hand and the moment was broken, and Lizzie, feeling a little melancholy, stood up and went to the kitchen. She hoped she'd be brave enough to tell Mags one day, but she couldn't find that courage right now.

_“Ladies and gentlemen, there can be no more doubt! If you had any questions, you can now rest assured that our Overboss is a badass! What'd he do, you ask? Oh, nothing much. Just accomplished what we've all been waiting for—taking Nuka-World over! All of it! I don't know what the Overboss has planned next, but man, get behind him or get the hell out of his way!”_

Mags was still listening to the radio in the dining room, smoke from her lit cigarette twisting toward the ceiling. Lizzie closed her eyes and hoped that things would stay like this for a little while longer.

* * *

_“Hey, any of you hear that Nisha once—_ supposedly _—took out an entire raider gang by herself? Looking for facts and/or proof. Come talk to me.”_

***

Lizzie got her wish. The last time she saw the Overboss that year was the day after he secured the Galactic Zone for the Operators. He swung by the Parlor with Gage in tow to pick up the bottles of Nuka-Cola that always seemed to be in the vending machine, gave Mags a quick nod, and ducked right back out without a word. Then the last two weeks of December came and went without a sign of either Apollo or Gage, and suspicious talk started to bubble up.

Rumors started flying that the Overboss had ditched them—but if that was true, what had happened to Gage? Obviously the Overboss had killed him, right? He was probably preparing to come back to Nuka-World and cut them all down—okay, seriously? Then why did he go through all the trouble of clearing out and claiming the parks for them? Maybe he was just going to sit back and let them kill each other, who knew with that guy? He wasn't a raider to begin with, not like them, so maybe he'd decided that the raider life wasn't for him. Okay, sure, but then what happened to Gage? Gage would come back—not if the Overboss just killed him outright.

Lizzie didn't know what to think, especially not after, the first week in January, they all felt the ground shake underneath their feet. She had a sneaking suspicion that the Overboss was involved, but it wasn't until a few days later, while William was flipping back and forth between Diamond City Radio and Nuka-World Radio, that they heard what happened: _“—City Radio has possibly the biggest news in history to share with you. I can confirm, without a doubt, that the Institute is no more! You heard me right—they have been completely wiped out! The Minutemen have truly lived up to their ideal of protecting the Commonwealth. Those brave men and women stormed the Institute and blew the whole thing to pieces. Turned out the Institute was under our feet the whole time, hiding out underground. Well, at least no one needs to dig a grave. I also have it on good authority that the vault-dweller was on scene. Y'know, an old friend once told me, you gotta always fight the good fight. Looks like someone we know did just that. We all owe him our thanks—hell, I think it's fair to say we owe him our lives. So if you're out there, worried about disappearing in the middle of the night or having your loved ones replaced by robots, you can rest easy. A new day is dawning for Diamond City, folks—hell, for the whole Commonwealth. Let's make the most of it. Up next, Connie Allen—”_

William snapped off the radio. A stunned silence fell over the Parlor.

“So much for the Minutemen being defunct,” Mags muttered. “Turns out the Overboss is one of them.”

Truth be told, Lizzie had never been too terribly worried about the Institute or their synths, but now, knowing that they had been wiped out, she felt a strange sense of relief. Of course, worry over their boss being affiliated with the Minutemen quickly replaced that with nagging dread.

“Hope Gage has a backup plan for _that_ ,” William said.

“Backup plan for what?”

Every head in the Parlor jerked toward the front doors. The Overboss was striding in with Gage two steps behind him. The Overboss had his usual bandana and sunglasses on, but the fatigues he'd been wearing the last time they'd seen him had been replaced by one of the Operators' fancy suits. It wasn't a good look.

“Heard you took down the Institute,” Lizzie said to break the silence.

“They had it coming.” Apollo pocketed the Nuka-Colas in the machine and left as quickly as he came.

* * *

_“So here's a little something for you... If you haven't heard, we're taking this show on the road! Oh, yeah, you heard me! Gone are the days of sitting around on our asses while everything goes to shit! The Overboss is gonna make sure the whole damn Commonwealth knows who we are! Now that Nuka-World is ours, we're branching out, taking over some of those shit-heap settlements in the Commonwealth, turning them into something better! If you haven't gotten in on this action yet, there's still time—the boss ain't done yet! Talk to your gang leaders about what_ you _can do to help!”_

***

“Gotta say, I was a little worried when I heard the Overboss was allied with the Minutemen,” Mason said. He took a swig from the bottle of bourbon between him and William and set it back down. “But _no_ Minuteman would do what he did.”

The Overboss had only returned a week ago, but he was already getting back to work. He'd led a small band of Pack members in an attack on Taffington Boathouse and set it up as their very first outpost in the Commonwealth, then taken another group to the nearby County Crossing and forced them to start handing over supplies. The rumor was the Minutemen's second-in-command, Preston Garvey, had banished Apollo from the Minutemen and taken over as general himself, and now the Minutemen had orders to shoot him on sight.

“Guess he just allied himself with them to take down the Institute,” William said. “Not that I'm complaining, but I wish he'd blown the Brotherhood of Steel out of the sky, too.”

“You and me both. And maybe destroyed that Railroad group, too.”

William lifted the bottle of bourbon to his lips.

“I really thought he was gonna fuck us over, too,” Mason went on. “The Pack, I mean. But now everything's all nice and even, and Nisha isn't gloatin' inside Fizztop anymore. We'll take over a few more settlements, and then the caps'll start rollin' in.”

“He's running another op tomorrow,” William said. “Starlight Drive-In. Takin' the Operators with him this time.” His tongue felt heavy in his mouth and it occurred to him that one of them should probably be staying sober—if only because they couldn't shoot straight drunk—but he couldn't bring himself to care. There was a thrill of excitement in the air in Nuka-World now that they were moving on the Commonwealth. People were busy—the gangs were starting to clear out the power plant, getting it ready to bring it back online and finally get the lights on. He didn't think they'd ever been so productive before, and that pleased Mags. She hated it when they were idle—it turned them sloppy and weak.

“Yeah, I heard him talkin' to Shank,” Mason said. “Hope he doesn't stop until we got every last settlement out there under our control.”

William chuckled, tilting his head back against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. They'd started meeting in the decimated restroom near Kiddie Kingdom, and now that the misters were no longer spraying irradiated water, it wasn't such a bad location. They'd dragged a mattress in, which was what they were sitting on now, their backs against the wall. “He blew up the Institute. He's relentless. I think we're gonna be just fine.”

This wasn't how it normally went. Usually they were already horizontal at this point, but Mason had brought the bottle this time and flopped down on the mattress, and William went along with it even though he told himself it was a mistake. All they'd done for the past hour was drink and talk, and now the bottle was nearly empty and William just wanted to lean his head on Mason's shoulder and close his eyes. A mistake. He couldn't afford to feel like this, but he did. He couldn't afford to enjoy this, to _crave_ this, not when they could still end up turning against each other—but it was too late for him. Mason would be the death of him, and even if it broke Mags's heart, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop it.

“Hope he picks the Pack for the next op,” Mason mumbled. “I wanna see how pissed Nisha'd get. Ain't got shit since Dry Rock Gulch. Fuckin' Disciples. They've been fuckin' with my people for months.”

“Ours, too. Couple of our people've gone missing in the last month, an' I'd bet a hundred caps they're behind it. Can't prove it, but...”

“Can't prove anything with 'em. Most of 'em are too good at coverin' their tracks. But one of 'em is bound to slip up.” Without warning, Mason pitched sideways, twisting until his head was in William's lap. It was a sign of how drunk they both were that neither of them seemed bothered by it, or by the way William automatically began running his fingers through Mason's hair. He was aware enough, though, to be grateful he'd taken his leg guards off only a few minutes after walking in—they wouldn't have been any fun to lie on.

“You can finish that,” Mason said, gesturing abstractly to the bottle. “I'm done.” His eyes were closed and he rested his hand, the one not pinned down by his body, on William's leg.

It was an intimate situation, and one he knew he'd regret when he woke up with a knife planted in his throat, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It was a mistake to let Mason get this close, but it was a mistake he wanted to make.

He finished off the bottle, still playing with Mason's hair. He felt heat flooding through him and he wanted to take off his chest piece—it was over forty pounds and sweltering hot—but doing so would jostle Mason and he didn't want to do that, not when Mason was already drifting off, looking serene, so he just rested his head against the wall, running his fingertips over Mason's shoulder. He wondered what time it was just before he fell asleep and hoped he would wake up before first light, but even as he closed his eyes, he had a feeling it wouldn't happen.

* * *

_“I have a note here, folks, about a missing person... and I'm not gonna bother reading it. C'mon, you all know that 'missing' means 'dead.'”_

***

He was right. When he finally woke up, it took him a minute to remember where he was—he wasn't used to bright light pouring directly into his retinas first thing in the morning, more accustomed to waking up in the Parlor. Then he realized his back was stiff and that he wasn't even lying down. Finally, he realized his hand was still on Mason's arm, and that Mason was still asleep on him.

“Shit,” William muttered. He rubbed his eyes, accidentally knocking over the now-empty bottle of bourbon, and nudged Mason. “Come on, jackass, it's morning.”

Mason made an indistinct, confused sound and opened his eyes. “Ah, fuck. What time is it?”

William checked his watch. “Nine-thirty. I'm sure our absence has already been duly noted by now, too.”

Mason groaned and finally sat up. “As long as my people didn't burn down the amphitheater, we're probably fine.”

“ _You're_ probably fine. I'm not. Mags doesn't know about this, and I was kind of hoping to keep it that way, but now that's not an option. There's no way she hasn't noticed me being gone this long.”

“Well, then, let's get this over with.”

They climbed to their feet and William strapped his leg guards back on. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, but that would go away soon enough. He hadn't had _that_ much to drink, right? At least he wasn't nauseous. They grabbed their rifles and snuck, yawning and blinking, into the sunlight.

They split up near Nuka-Town, William strolling through the back area of the park near the Cola-Cars arena that twisted around until he came out near the Parlor (it would have been faster to come back through the gates near Fizztop, but that was in the heart of Disciples territory), while Mason continued on to the main gates. If the guard at the door to the Parlor thought it was unusual for William to just be returning now, he didn't say anything. He braced himself for a shitstorm from Mags and walked in.

It never came. Mags was standing near the stage reading over a report. She glanced up as he appeared. “Are you alright?” she asked him calmly, quietly.

He nodded, waiting.

She went back to reading. “You look like hell. Get some sleep.”

_That can't be it._ Still, he went into the dressing room and started taking off his armor. She was right—despite sleeping for as long as he had, it hadn't exactly been restful, and he was exhausted. A few more hours on an actual bed with some water to clear his head would be just what he needed.

When he finally awoke around one in the afternoon, Mags was in the room too, typing on her terminal. _Here we go._ As soon has she realized he was up, she turned in her seat to face him. “Mags, I—” he started, sitting up, but she held up a hand to cut him off.

“I already figured out that you're seeing someone. I don't know who, but I'm assuming it's someone outside the gang. I'm not asking, either. I'm not sure I _want_ to know. Just be careful. That's all I ask. And, if necessary, make sure there aren't any witnesses.”

“Of course.” He didn't want to believe that that was it, but she flashed him a small smile and went back to typing.

* * *

_“Anonymous note has come in: 'Whoever's dumping bodies in the swan pond—thanks! Totally set the mood for a romantic evening! It really paid off.' Damn, you are_ all _disgusting!”_

***

Word came back to Nuka-World a week later: the Overboss claimed a third Commonwealth settlement for them. To them, it was largely irrelevant that Apollo had used the Pack for the job—it brought them even with the Operators at three outposts each. Of course, Lizzie fully expected that Nisha, who hadn't gotten anything since Dry Rock Gulch, would be livid. Still, she found herself completely blindsided when, less than twelve hours later, a bloodied runner in Pack apparel burst into the Parlor.

“Mags, y-you gotta get to the power plant,” the Pack member said while the guards at the doors continued to point their rifles at her. “Nisha stormed it—Disciples killed just about everyone inside—Mason's already on his way—said I should get you—”

It felt like someone was squeezing Lizzie's heart with a metal fist.

Mags and William exchanged glances. “Alright, we'll head out in a minute. Get back to your base—you,” Mags added to one of her own gang loitering near the door, “walk her to the gate, make sure she gets there safe. Don't want her to die and have Mason blame it on us. And be careful—the rest of the Disciples are probably out for blood, too.”

Suddenly the Parlor was a flurry of activity—Mags and William scrounged up every spare round they could lay their hands on and the rest of the Operators started prepping their own weapons. Lizzie began clearing up her chemistry station, getting ready to go with them, when she heard the front doors open again and Mags calling behind her, “Until we come back, Lizzie's in charge.”

_She's going to leave me behind?_ Lizzie grabbed the nearest weapon and dashed out into the dining room. “Mags, wait!” she shouted, but the front doors slammed closed and the twins were gone. She had a sinking, sick feeling that she wasn't going to see either of them again—and she hadn't even gotten the chance to tell Mags how she felt about her.

It was too late. She closed her eyes and silently promised herself that, if Mags did come back alive, she'd tell her as soon as she came back.

“Lizzie,” someone said quietly. “What do we do now?”

She opened her eyes. Everyone in the Parlor was looking at her, looking _to_ her. Mags had left her in charge, after all. Now this was her show. Fortunately, she was good at preparing for worst-case scenarios.

“We get ready. If Nisha somehow manages to kill Mags and William _and_ the Overboss, the Disciples will probably try to storm the Parlor and the amphitheater next—and I'm not foolish enough to think the Pack is going to try to help us. So we dig in and we get ready for that fight. Flip these tables—they'll give us some cover. You two—” she pointed at the two Operators closest to the door “—go to the market and get every last bullet, every bit of oil, glass, cloth, and adhesive you can get your hands on. We're going to make enough Molotov cocktails to burn this whole park to the ground.”

The two of them scrambled to get out while everyone else began turning tables on their sides. Lizzie went to the front, grabbing another three Operators as she went. “Four guards at the door. Don't want anyone to get the jump on us.”

Outside, the sun was just beginning to set. Lizzie had a feeling that it would all be over by morning, and that terrified her. “I'll send out four more in a couple of hours. We'll keep that rotation up until Mags and William come back or... or the fighting starts. I need you to give us a heads-up when something happens. Slam the butt of your rifle against the door. Once if Mags and William are coming back. Twice if the Disciples attack. Three times if... if the group comes back but Mags or William or both are missing.”

“The group being Mags, William, the Overboss, and Mason?” one of the guards asked.

“Yes. And Gage—I'm assuming he's still with Apollo.”

“Don't worry. I'm sure they'll be back.”

“I wish I shared your confidence.” Lizzie went back into the Parlor relayed the same information to everyone else—the code and the watch rotation. No one argued, for which she was grateful, not that she expected disagreement. Mags _had_ left her in charge, and anyone who'd been in the Operators for longer than a week knew that Lizzie was just as much a boss in her own right as Mags and William.

While she waited for her runners to get back with their resources, she grabbed the rifle off William's desk in the dressing room. It was painted in Pack colors, but she didn't particularly care what it looked like at this point. It was defense. That's what counted. They weren't going to lose the Parlor, not without a fight.

* * *

_“Okay, you know what? Screw the Disciples. Just... what a bunch of assholes. We're all out here, sweating and bleeding for Boss's vision, and what—it's not enough for you? You didn't get enough attention from Daddy, so you're gonna throw a tantrum and take over the power station? Well, you know what? Screw. You. The Overboss is gonna grind you into the fuckin' dirt. In fact, I hope you're already bleeding out. I mean... the hell you think you're gonna accomplish? After everything the boss has done, you're gonna stand in his way? The rest of you out there—you know what I'm talking about. You see these assholes, you shoot 'em in the face.”_

***

“Do you think she'll be alright?” Mags said. She and William were dashing past the Galactic Zone toward the Power Plant. They'd wait at the bottom of the hill in the guard shack with Mason until the Overboss showed up, but until then, it would be a tense stretch.

“Lizzie? She'll be fine. They listen to her just like they listen to us. It's _us_ I'm worried about. We're the ones who're trying to pry the plant out of the Disciples' hands.”

“I'm worried about us, too, but I'm _here_. Not knowing what's going on back at the Parlor has me nervous. If we die and Nisha survives, you know she's going to try to overrun the rest of Nuka-Town—the Parlor and the amphitheater included. I'd be shocked if the Pack even _tried_ to help our people fight off the Disciples.”

“I'm not holding my breath for it, either—” He paused as Mags picked off a bloatfly meandering toward them “—but Lizzie's got a handle on this. Remember when we stormed Revere? How she took point and got us through with barely a hitch? She's good under pressure. Of course,” he said with excessive casualness, “there's probably another reason you're particularly worried about her.”

“Don't do this,” Mags muttered. “I already feel horrible. I didn't want to leave her behind without telling her—we didn't have time.”

“You had eighteen years.”

“Well, if we make it through this, I swear I'll tell her.”

“I hope by 'we,' you mean you and her. Even if I go, you still should tell her.”

“I'm really trying not to contemplate the possibility of a single one of us dying tonight. We all need to come through this.”

“Well, as long as the Overboss hurries up, we should be okay. Between the five of us, we should be more than a match for anything the Disciples can throw at us.”

Mags clenched her jaw. “I always knew this was a possibility, but I still can't believe Nisha was stupid enough to pull this. How does she honestly expect this to go? She should know that the only way she gets away with this is if she kills every single one of us—you, me, Mason, Apollo, Gage, everyone in the Operators, everyone in the Pack. That's it.”

They were coming up on the guard shack. Mason was inside, pacing. As soon as he saw them, he seemed to relax a bit. “Good, Julie got you.”

“Yes. Don't worry—we made sure she got back to the amphitheater safely.”

“Good. Appreciate it. Dropped a note to RedEye, too—Shank's probably listening in the Commonwealth, so I'm hoping he told Apollo to get his ass back here.”

“He's got that Pip-Boy on his arm, too,” William pointed out. “If he tunes in, I'm sure he'll hear all about it.”

“Then I guess it's just a waiting game now,” Mags said. She slung her rifle over her shoulder and leaned up against the desk. She hoped it wouldn't be too long.

Two hours later, the conversation had once again returned to the same point they'd been circling. “Looks like Nisha's dug in pretty well up there.”

“I knew that nutjob would turn on us sooner or later,” William grumbled. “So, are we storming the place or what?”

“Think we're about to find out,” Mason said. “The boss is here.”

And so he was. Apollo strolled up to the guard shack with Gage in tow and his usual sunglasses and bandana covering his face.

Mags launched into an explanation without any prompting. “While you were away, Nisha gathered up her gang and took the Power Plant. If that bitch thinks she's going to get away with this, she's dead wrong. I'll tuck her in for a dirt nap myself.”

What little of Apollo's face she could see crinkled up—whether in a grin or a grimace, she couldn't tell.

“You gotta be kiddin' me,” Gage said. “She turned on us, after everything we've done for her?”

“Just calm down and start at the beginning,” Apollo said.

“Story time, huh? Fine. While you were away, word came back from the Commonwealth that you're favoring the Operators and the Pack. Which we certainly appreciated, but surprise, surprise, Nisha wasn't exactly thrilled to hear the news.”

“Yeah. She and her gang forced their way into the Power Plant. Now they've got the entire place locked down,” William said. “She can't get away with this, boss. And we all want in on the action.”

“Hey, now,” Mason said, “I already lost men trying to stop her. I won't be satisfied until it's my hands wrapped around her scrawny neck, eyes popping out of her stupid little mask.”

“Both of you, shut up,” Mags snapped. “Look, boss, this is your play. We'll follow you anywhere, but you have to swear to us that Nisha will be punished for her actions.”

“She's as good as dead,” Apollo promised.

“Exactly what I was hoping to hear.”

“Let's do this!” William said, bringing his rifle to the ready.

Mason let out a howl, and the five of them charged out of the guard shack and started up the path toward the Power Plant.

She knew they were in for heavy resistance, but she and William had fought their way through positions like this before. Apollo and Gage had, too—after all, they'd cleared out all five parks on their own. She didn't know about Mason, but he was the Pack's Alpha, so it wouldn't surprise her. Still, she couldn't shake the sense of impending doom that settled over her. Something about the situation just didn't sit right with her.

They made it up to the plant relatively easily, trading shots with a few Disciples scattered outside. It was the first time she'd ever gotten to see the Overboss in action, and she found herself rather impressed—he landed three headshots in five seconds, something she wasn't sure even William could pull off. Twice, Disciples got within stabbing distance of him, and Apollo simply took a combat knife and shoved it through the eye holes in their masks, dropping them immediately.

But that changed once they got into the plant. Suddenly, the Disciples were a lot more spread-out than before, and though they could see their enemies through the metal grating, the shooting at each other was a lot more difficult. Then, of course, there were also a few feral ghouls to contend with, which they dispatched with relative ease, but it was an unwelcome distraction. Up and down ramps and catwalks they went, shooting their way through and lobbing a few grenades and Molotov cocktails (she and William jokingly called the ones they'd made “mazel tov cocktails”) to clear out the turrets the Disciples had also set up. They weren't able to do as thorough a job as she would have liked—there were far too many alcoves in which Disciples could be hiding for that; they were more concerned with making it to the roof and killing Nisha.

Unfortunately, this meant they were about halfway up when Mags looked around and realized with a terrifying jolt that William was nowhere to be found. There was Apollo and Gage and Mason—but no William.

“Oh, fuck,” she muttered. This was _not_ the way this was supposed to go.

Mason saw the expression on her face, looked around, and hissed, “Shit,” his eyes going wide. Without another word, he turned and sprinted back the way they'd come.

If he'd been closer, she would have demanded he come back and continue on with Apollo and Gage, but he was too far away now. William was _her_ brother—she should have been the one to go looking for him. But she couldn't just leave the Overboss and Gage to fight up to the roof on their own, so, swallowing her displeasure and silently vowing to take off Mason's head if he didn't bring back William safely, she kept following the Overboss.

* * *

_“Real quick—whoever gutted an outside trader and piked him in front of the gates, your handiwork was impressive, but not exactly good for business. Maybe keep that shit at home, okay?”_

***

_What a shitty way to go_ , William couldn't help thinking. Under heavy fire, he wasn't all that surprised when he felt that bullet tear through his leg—his calf, too low for his leg guards to protect. He was pretty sure the bullet ripped clean through the muscle, but he was in too much pain to check. He'd had just enough strength left to drag himself away from the main fighting and slump against a wall, and now he was fighting not to pass out.

It had already been ten minutes, and the sound of gunfire had faded a little. In the chaos, it seemed, even his own sister hadn't noticed he was gone. He tried not to be bitter about that—they were in the middle of what was possibly the most important fight of their lives—but he hoped someone would realize that he wasn't there soon. There was already quite a bit of blood pouring out of his leg, pooling around him.

_Over a hundred fucking pounds of armor, and I get hit by one lucky bullet that missed it all._ If he managed to survive this, he would need to add more armor—of course, _then_ he would end up taking a round to the knee, and trying to craft armor for that would be a pain in the ass.

He closed his eyes, head swimming. Between the pain and the blood loss, he was fighting a losing battle. His biggest fear right now was not that he'd die, but that he'd die apart from Mags. If he died here and she was killed on the roof—if each of them died thinking the other was still alive somewhere—that would be the worst. He wouldn't know it, of course—he didn't believe in an afterlife. In fact, believing that there was nothing after death was a bit of a comfort to him, since at least then he wouldn't have anything else to worry about.

He heard footsteps but didn't open his eyes right away. Someone had finally realized he was gone and had come back for him. He felt a bit of relief as the footsteps came closer, but that relief died away when he heard an unfamiliar voice say, “Well, lookie here.”

He pulled his eyes open. A pair of Disciples were hurrying toward him, knives already out. He scrambled to lift his rifle, but his arms felt heavy, too weak—no good. He changed his mind: _this_ would be a far worse way to go, cut to ribbons by a pair of insane, revenge- and blood-crazed Disciples—and then if Mags survived, she'd have to see what was left of his mutilated body, adding insult to injury.

Even though it was hopeless, he still offered up a silent prayer for rescue.

“Nisha wanted to kill all of you herself, but it doesn't look like you're gonna last much longer,” the second one said. They were practically on top of him. “So I'm sure she won't mind too much if we finish you off ourselves.”

_BANG! BANG!_

Suddenly, both of the Disciples dropped—one with their head blown clean off, the other bleeding through a hole in their back. He felt a fleeting thrill of hope that vanished as soon as it came. It wasn't Mags but Mason staring down his rifle at him.

_It's not so bad_ , he thought as another wave of dizziness washed over him and he closed his eyes. _He'll make it quick, otherwise he would have let them kill me, right?_ He hoped, anyway. Out of respect for what they'd had, he hoped Mason would kill him quickly.

“Shit—no, please—stay with me, Will,” he heard Mason saying as something clattered to the ground, and he felt Mason next to him, hands cradling his face, turning his head, pushing his sweaty hair back from his face. “Come on, you still there? Look at me.”

William opened his eyes and Mason exhaled in relief. “Thank God. Keep your eyes open.”

_What?_

His bewilderment must have shown on his face because Mason stared at him for a moment. “Wait—did you think I was gonna kill you?”

“The thought had occurred to me.”

“No.” Mason pulled off his shirt and started to tie it around William's leg to try to control the bleeding. “Even if I didn't already know your sister would murder me if I brought back your corpse. I couldn't—I couldn't kill you, even if I wanted to. Here.” Mason injected him with a stimpak and a syringe of Med-X in quick succession.

He started feeling better almost immediately—not exactly fighting fit, but definitely less like he was about to die.

“Come on, we gotta get to the roof. Think you can walk if you lean on me?”

“Don't know. I'll try.”

Mason grabbed him by the arm, slung it over his shoulders, and put his free arm around William, hauling him to his feet. He reached down for their rifles, gave William's back to him, and they slowly started making their way up to the roof.

It seemed to take forever—and that wasn't even counting the three or four times they had to stop so William could lean against a wall to catch his breath. Mason gave him another stimpak every time they stopped, but there was only so much they could do. He needed rest but they couldn't afford to wait around—and he certainly wasn't going to let Mason carry him, no matter how many times he suggested it. It would hurt his pride too much.

They finally got to the roof access hatch when they encountered another problem: the only way up was a ladder—not even a ramp or a set of stairs. “This isn't happening.”

Mason's arm was still around him and he told himself he needed it because he'd probably collapse without it—but he knew the real reason.

“Shit,” Mason muttered. “Okay. I'll go up and let them know you're alive. It'll probably give Mags a heart attack when she sees me without you, but you're not—”

The hatch opened, Mason aimed his rifle toward the ladder, and Apollo's face—sans bandana and sunglasses for once—appeared through the hole in the roof. “Can you not point that at me?”

“Sorry, boss.” Mason lowered his rifle.

The Overboss looked from William to Mason—and Mason's bare chest—and back, his beard twitching as he started grinning. “Hey, Mags,” he called over his shoulder, “William's alive. He's down here with Mason. Don't think he's gonna make it up here, though.” Apollo swung his body around and dropped through the hatch. “Nisha's dead, too, and also the power's finally back online, so it's a good day all around. Although,” he went on, suddenly noticed the blood soaking the shirt tied around William's leg, “maybe not as good for everyone. Holy shit, dude.”

Mags was scrambling down the ladder. “Thank God.” She landed, turned, looked from William to Mason and back, saw his leg, and sighed. “Well, at least you're alive. Now what?”

Gage started down the ladder, swinging the hatch closed behind him.

“Get that rug,” Apollo said, pointing to the rug on the floor a few feet behind them. “We're turning that into a makeshift stretcher. You're not walking on that anymore—not until we assess the damage, and this isn't exactly the most sterile environment.”

“I already gave him a couple stimpaks,” Mason said, sounding irritated.

“Which is great, but there's only so much stimpaks can do when there's a fucking bullet hole blown through your leg. Trust me, this is not the first time I've had to patch up wounds like this.”

Which was how, feeling like an idiot, he ended up being carried out of the power plant by the four of them. The only thing that brought him comfort was the reminder that at least he was still alive, and they weren't carrying back his corpse. Even if he did end up finally passing out halfway back.

* * *

_“Hey, here's a friendly reminder: sure, nobody likes traders, but you can't kill 'em all, or else there won't be anyone around to do all the shitty work you assholes won't do. Think about it!”_

***

The first sign they had that something had changed was when the lights overhead flickered on at about one-thirty. It was a good sign, but no one knew what to make of it. Obviously the power plant was back up and running, but who had been the one to throw the switch? So they all stayed put, dug in. It was only about an hour's walk from the plant to Nuka-Town, so Lizzie was certain they'd have an answer soon.

No one slept. Even at three in the morning, everyone was too wired to sleep, to anxious to know if they had a fight coming. Lizzie tried not to let her tremors show, but the rifle in her hands felt heavy. All she wanted was assurance—she just wanted to know if Mags and William were coming back or not.

_THUD._

Her heart stopped—one smack. That was good!

_THUD._

Two. Every gun in the Parlor raised, aiming for the door, waiting for them to fly open and Disciples to pour in.

_THUD._

“No,” Lizzie whispered. Someone was gone. Mags or William—or both. She dropped the rifle and hid her face in her hands. She couldn't afford to lose her carefully-crafted mask of calm—not now, not when she could be it, the last of the Operator bosses.

Slowly, guns started lowering and the Operators began looking at each other, at Lizzie. All of them wondered the same thing—was it one of them, or both of them? Who was their casualty?

From outside, she heard the Overboss yell, “Get those doors open!” Almost immediately, the front doors flew open and Lizzie recognized four people—Apollo, Gage, Mason, and Mags. They seemed to be carrying something between them, something dripping blood on the floor—

“Get a table flipped over, dammit!” Mags shouted, and suddenly the Parlor was moving again—they righted the table in the middle of the dining room—the four of them hurried through the doors—they were carrying a blanket or a rug between them— _oh, God—_ it was William, and his eyes were closed.

“Get Mackenzie from the market, now!” Apollo barked. “Lizzie, I need all the vodka and surgery tools you have.”

Lizzie hurtled into the kitchen and grabbed surgical trays, scalpels, stimpaks—anything she could lay her trembling hands on.

“Laz, are you sure this is the time for—” Gage started, sounding annoyed, but Apollo cut him off.

“It's for sterilization, you greasy motherfucker.”

Lizzie heard a weak chuckle and realized it was William; relief flooded through her. She laughed quietly, too, and hurried back into the dining room as Mackenzie came in through the front. Mason, she realized, puzzled, was shirtless.

Apollo was already in action. This was a side of the Overboss she'd never seen. He tied his bandana back on, doused his hands in vodka, cut off a bloody rag and the leg of William's suit below the knee, and poured more vodka over the bullet wound in his leg—it looked like it had been worse, not that it looked all that great at the moment—with an efficiency that almost seemed automatic. For the next hour, he and Mackenzie assessed the damage and fixed it, cleaning and stitching and wrapping. Lizzie was pretty sure William passed out at one point, but as soon as he came to, he reached for the bottle of vodka and took a long swig.

“I'd tell you not to choke on that, but I'm pretty sure you overcame your gag reflex a long time ago,” the Overboss said without looking up.

Half the jaws in Parlor dropped in shock while the other half quickly disappeared behind hands in an attempt to disguise laughter. The Operators looked around at each other, at William, at Mags, as if trying to decide if it was alright to laugh or not. Mags fought to keep her face blank, although a smile kept twitching at her lips while Gage immediately excused himself from the Parlor. Lizzie nearly dissolved into giggles at the look on William's face—confusion, slowly giving way to comprehension.

“Okay, that's fair,” William said with a begrudging smile. A few of the Operators finally broke into quiet chuckles.

Mason buried his face in his hands, drawing Lizzie's attention.

“Why is Mason still here?” she asked Mags quietly, keeping her head turned away from them so her voice didn't carry.

“Look for two seconds and take a guess,” Mags whispered.

Lizzie looked, paying closer attention—and it was suddenly, painfully obvious. Once Mason composed himself and looked up again, he seemed utterly unable to look away from William for any length of time, the worry on his face abundantly clear. It certainly explained why William had a rifle painted in Pack colors on his desk.

“I suppose that solves a mystery. Now what?”

“I don't know. I didn't feel it was an appropriate time to discuss it, with Apollo and Gage there. But Mason was the one who saved him in the first place, so he's earned a bit of trust.”

“What happened?”

Mags glanced toward the table, where Apollo was still operating on William. “Come on,” she said, and gently led Lizzie to the kitchen and closed the doors.

“It was utter chaos in there,” Mags said. “I didn't even realize until we were about halfway through the plant that William wasn't with us—and I guess Mason realized about a second after I did. He happened to be bringing up the rear, so he went back for William before I could tell him to stay put. I... it should have been me going after him, but following Mason would have meant leaving Apollo and Gage to finish fighting their way up to the roof themselves. I figured someone should stay with them. I didn't like it, but I did it anyway. I guess William took a bullet to the leg pretty early on and managed to get out of the crossfire without anyone noticing. When Mason found him, there... there were a couple of Disciples who almost... well, you've seen what the Disciples do.”

Lizzie nodded, not daring to speak. Mags seemed dangerously close to tears.

“Mason blew them away before they could hurt him, fortunately, but he'd been there so long that he was already pretty badly off. He gave William a couple of stimpaks and a syringe or two of Med-X and got him up to the top floor. By then, Apollo, Gage, and I were already on the roof. Apollo killed Nisha, and Gage and I finished off the rest of the Disciples on the roof while he got the power back online. As soon as Apollo saw William, he was already giving orders. It was his idea to use that rug as a stretcher. Of course, I knew the moment I saw William and Mason together what was going on. They were holding onto each other just a little too tightly for it to be anything other than romantic. And then, of course, on the way back, every five minutes, Mason kept asking William if he needed another stimpak or dose of Med-X. It wasn't exactly subtle. As much as it pains me to admit it, I can tell they care about each other. It worries me a little, but Mason kept him safe, so I don't think his intentions are anything but honorable. Well, as honorable as the intentions of a raider can be, anyway.”

They both chuckled at that.

“So once all the proverbial dust settles, we'll talk to them about it, see what they have to say. I don't expect they'll stop seeing each other, and I'm not going to ask them to. If he makes William happy, then I can't ask for more than that.”

Lizzie nodded again. “Of course. I mean, I certainly didn't expect this—not _Mason—_ but the man kept him safe. It sounds like he could have very easily let the Disciples kill him or just killed William himself, but he didn't. To be honest, I'm just... so relieved that both of you are alive. I won't pretend that I wasn't terrified when you left. I thought I might never see you again.”

“You seem to have done alright, though,” Mags said. “Those were some impressive barricades you put up.”

“We didn't know how it would shake out at the power station. I wanted us to be ready in case the Disciples stormed the rest of Nuka-Town.” Lizzie started speaking faster. If she didn't say it now, she was going to lose her nerve—and she'd made herself a promise. “But honestly, that didn't scare me as much as the thought that you might die out there, and I hated myself for everything I was too afraid to tell you before. I know this is probably the worst imaginable time to tell you this and I _should_ have said it years ago, but the truth is, I've been in love with you since we were fourteen. I never found the right time to say it—it never seemed exactly _right—_ but you—”

She was cut off abruptly when Mags caught her face in her hands and kissed her, and for a second, Lizzie couldn't breathe, she was in such a state of shock. But it quickly passed and she wrapped her arms around Mags and melted into her. Every cell in her body seemed to be humming with energy, to course with excitement over _finally!_ It felt like she was floating and she had to cling to Mags to keep herself from lifting off the ground and drifting away. She'd imagined many times what it would be like to finally kiss Mags, after all this time, but all her expectations paled in comparison to the real thing.

Mags's nose bumped into hers as she tilted her head in the other direction, like she couldn't get enough of kissing Lizzie, and she realized that Mags's face seemed to be soaked in tears. Suddenly, Lizzie was alarmed, since she could count on one hand with fingers left over the number of times she'd ever witnessed Mags crying. She'd seen William cry more times than Mags. She pulled back a little, just far enough to look at her properly. “What's wrong, love? None of us are dead, and we—”

“I wasted eighteen years of my life,” Mags whispered, “thinking that you didn't love me back. Even after William told me to just tell you, to get it over with, I was always too afraid because what if he was wrong?”

“He told me the exact same thing,” Lizzie said. “I think he could tell. It explains why he sounded more and more frustrated every year.”

Mags gave a choked laugh. “He probably got tired of us. I would have, too. After this long—”

“It wasn't wasted, though. We were right here, waiting for each other. Maybe we could have said something a decade and a half ago, but I never went anywhere, and neither did you. I'm right here, right now. I love you.”

Still crying, Mags pressed her lips to Lizzie's again. “I'm right here, and I love you, too.”

Lizzie felt like a princess being kissed by her queen as Mags kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, her lips, her chin, her neck—Lizzie tilted her head back to make it easier since the metal collar of her armor was in the way. She couldn't believe that this was finally happening, after twenty years of hoping and dreaming. She should have said something earlier, ten or fifteen years ago, but wishing that way wouldn't change it. For now, she just wanted to savor this moment, Mags's arms around her, her hands running patterns over the back of Mags's neck, her heart beating painfully fast.

Knees weak, she leaned back against the chemistry station as Mags caught her mouth again. She slid a hand up Lizzie's thigh, hiking her skirt up, and Lizzie automatically spread her legs. She knew it was a mistake to do this right here, right now, but she couldn't bring herself to care, not when Mags's fingers paused right at the top of her thigh, her thumb straying dangerously close to where Lizzie was already wet.

“Do you want me to stop?” Mags breathed, barely pulling back. She wasn't crying anymore. “Or should I keep going?”

“We could get caught,” Lizzie said.

There was something about the way Mags looked at her that told her she didn't particularly care about getting caught. “That's not what I asked.”

“Keep going.”

Mags covered Lizzie's mouth with her own, which ended up being a good thing; Lizzie let out a muffled moan when Mags's hand slid under her panties and Mags pushed a finger inside her. Lizzie's arm, flung behind her for support, nearly gave out as Mags began thrusting, sidling right in between her legs.

“I fantasized about fucking you here,” Mags murmured, freeing her mouth to whisper in her ear. Lizzie bit her lip to hold in another moan. “My brilliant, clever chemist... God, I love watching you work.” She slipped in another finger, and Lizzie whimpered, arching her back to meet her thrusts. It was getting more and more difficult to keep herself quiet—but the threat of being discovered only made it better. Maybe Mags had been onto something.

Her head was spinning and she was fairly certain her next gasp could be heard in the dining room. Mags must have thought the same thing because a moment later, her mouth was pressed to Lizzie's again. “This would be the worst time for them to catch us,” she whispered against Lizzie's lips, pushing in a third finger.

Lizzie agreed, although she didn't dare open her mouth. Her fingers curled against the edge of the chemistry station as the tempo increased—heat was flooding through her—her head tilted back, jaw clamped tight against the moans that threatened to spill out— _oh, my God—_ and then she was finally coming, waves of pleasure wracking her body as she melted, falling back, except Mags was there to catch her, her free hand suddenly against her back, and if one of the beakers fell behind the station and shattered on the floor, neither of them noticed.

As soon as she no longer felt completely boneless, she threw her arms around Mags and kissed her hard. “Did that really just happen, or am I dreaming?”

Mags smiled against her lips. “If this is a dream, I'll kill the fool who wakes me.” She brushed back a few strands of hair from Lizzie's face. “I'm sorry. I should have waited and done this properly. I meant for... if we ever did this, I'd meant for our first time to be something memorable, not rushed and sloppy.”

“You don't hear me complaining, do you?” Lizzie asked. “You can't say that wasn't memorable, either.” She took Mags's hand, resting lightly on her thigh, and sucked her fingers clean, teasing her tongue over the three that had been inside her.

Mags seemed momentarily speechless, which wasn't something that happened often. This ended up working out, too, since a moment later, there came a sharp knock at the door. Mags let out a quiet, frustrated groan. “What is it?” she called.

“I'm all done out here,” Apollo said from the other side of the door. There was a note of amusement in his voice. “Can I open the door, or do you need a minute?”

They quickly disentangled themselves. Mags went to the door, smoothing her hair back as Lizzie stood up, tugging her skirt back down. Mags opened the door. “Is he alright?”

“He's fine, he'll live. Those stitches'll hold as long as he doesn't move, so you need to make sure he stays in bed for the next two weeks. No walking around, no physical activity of any kind, nothing, unless he feels like having another set of stitches put in,” he added over his shoulder, a little more loudly. “There's gauze on the wound, and it should be changed at least twice a day for the next week, and after that, once a day should be fine. Make sure whoever does it has clean hands—I'm not so concerned about hygiene when it comes to the Operators, but the Pack, well—all those animals aren't so clean.”

“Hey!” Mason protested.

“Tell me I'm wrong, I dare you,” Apollo said. “Anyway, I'll be back to check on him in a few days. In the meantime, I'm gonna go get trashed and sleep for the next eighteen hours.”

“Boss, how do you have all this medical knowledge?” Lizzie asked as he turned around.

“Six years as a combat medic in the 2nd Battalion, 108th Infantry Regiment. I've patched up about three hundred lacerations, bullet wounds, tears, and other assorted fun injuries. This was probably about the calmest environment I've ever operated in.”

She knew what battalions and regiments were, but she'd only ever heard them applied to pre-War circumstances. That didn't make any sense. But before she could ask for further clarification, he was striding out the door, Mackenzie scurrying behind him.

Mags sighed, rubbing her temples. “Alright, William needs to be moved and the Parlor needs to be straightened back up. Let's go.”

Suddenly the Operators, who had been watching the Overboss sew up William with a great deal of interest, started moving, flipping tables right-side up and striking down barricades. Lizzie, Mags, Mason, and one of their scavvers each grabbed a corner of the rug William was still lying on and hauled him back to the dressing room and his own bed. William didn't look happy about having to be carried, but Apollo had insisted that he not move.

As soon as William was situated, Mags shooed the scavver out. Mason started to leave, too, but Mags put a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. “You stay.”

Lizzie closed the door, certain she'd never seen William look so nervous. Mason, too, seemed uneasy.

“I'm sure you both know what this is about,” Mags said. “You two have been seeing each other for awhile, right?”

“Yeah,” William said.

“Mason. Do you love my brother?”

William's eyebrows shot right up and he started to say something—maybe to protest Mags's question—but Mason, looking right at him, said, “Yeah. I do. I wouldn't have gone to look for him if I didn't.”

William closed his mouth, looking at Mason with something that might have been awe on his face.

“William, do you love him? Does he make you happy?”

William nodded. “Yes. To both questions.”

Mags sighed. “I'm not going to stand between you. For my entire life, one of the only things I ever wanted was for William to be happy. If he is, then I don't have cause to complain. I'll need some time to get used to it, but that goes without saying. So I suppose the next issue is, do we tell the gangs? The Operators would probably adjust to it, but the Pack...”

“Yeah. They probably wouldn't take it so well,” Mason said. “I'll think about it. Most likely I'll get a dozen challenges as Alpha after they find out. Something to consider.”

“We won't bother telling the Operators then,” Mags said. “At least not until the Pack knows, too. There's no way they'd keep it a secret.

“Alright, I've said what I needed to say. Do either of you have anything else for me? Lizzie?”

They all shook their heads, and Mason said, “I still gotta talk to my guys anyway. They're all probably wondering where I am right now—as far as I know, they don't know it's over yet.”

“Alright. I'll walk you out.”

Mags and Mason disappeared out the door and closed it behind them.

“Well, that's not how I expected that to go,” William said.

“Mags isn't really the type to make a scene.”

“I know. Sometimes I wonder if she has a limit. Haven't reached it yet.”

“I don't think she has one—at least, not when it comes to you.”

“Maybe. Although the fact that I almost died a few hours ago might have also tempered her reaction a bit.”

“Perhaps.”

“Speaking of which,” he said suddenly, “what was going on in the kitchen? Those doors were closed for awhile.”

Lizzie felt her cheeks burning, but she was grinning. She'd already decided that William didn't need a _complete_ rundown of events, otherwise he probably wouldn't be able to look either of them in the eye for the next two weeks. “If you must know, we had a long-overdue talk. As it turns out, Mags feels the same way about me that I do about her. But I bet you already knew that.”

William smiled and lay back. “Knew that a long time ago.”

“Why didn't you ever tell us?”

“I _told_ you to talk about it.”

“Yes, but if you had just told me that she—”

“She's my sister. And you're my best friend. I wanted to respect your privacy. I figured you'd talk when you were ready, and I didn't want to force it.”

Lizzie shook her head, still smiling. “I understand. It's frustrating, but I understand. Mostly, I'm just relieved that both of you came back alive.”

“I nearly didn't,” William murmured. “If I hadn't bled out, those Disciples would have finished me off.”

“Then I guess it's a very good thing Mason was there.”

“Yeah.” He began unstrapping his armor (Lizzie helping with his chest piece) and tossing it under his bed. “It's gonna be a pain in the ass to try to sleep tonight. Well, today.”

Lizzie checked her watch. “I can't believe it's nearly five in the morning.”

“Me neither. I bet everyone sleeps through today, and then everyone's up all night partying. Now that we don't have to worry about the Disciples ruining things, I think the Operators and the Pack can probably learn to work together.”

She smiled, sitting down at his desk. “They're going to have to, if your boyfriend decides he's going to tell his gang.”

* * *

_“Ladies and gentlemen, savages of all ages, we have done it! You know what I'm talking about, you've seen the lights! It's... it's beautiful, isn't it? Your hero and mine, the Overboss has made our dreams a reality! Nuka-World is now officially the best place in the world, and everyone everywhere knows it! You see the Overboss, you get down on your friggin' knees and thank him—without him, we'd be screwed! And then you get right back up, you get out there, and you tear some shit up!”_

***

There were still a few people lingering in the Parlor when Mags and Mason came out, and most of them looked at Mason with curiosity, but at least they'd pretty much gotten the Parlor put back to rights. Neither of them said anything until they were out the front door and she kept walking with him.

“Got somethin' else to say?”

“Yes. I want to make it clear that I really do appreciate what you did by saving William. That on its own would be enough to earn my trust, but all things considered... I trust my brother's judgement, and he clearly trusts you.”

“Wow. Y'know, I never really expected to be havin' this conversation.”

“I didn't either. I suspected for awhile that he was involved with someone, though. Since he wasn't telling me about it, my guess was that it was someone from outside the Operators, and considering his romantic history, the odds of it being someone in the Pack seemed high. Never expected it was you, though. I would have figured it was some low-ranking Pack nobody.”

Mason grinned. “To be fair, I _was_ a low-ranking Pack nobody when we started fucking.”

_Vivid._ She chose to ignore the second part of his statement and focused on the first. “You were involved before you became Alpha?”

“Yeah. Like, three weeks after we took Nuka-Town, actually. But I exactly didn't know who _he_ was, not right away. I didn't tell him I was workin' on a plan to become Alpha because I didn't think he'd really give a shit—and I had no idea he was an Operator boss. He just said his name was 'Will.' Never connected it with William Black. Wasn't until I saw him walkin' in with you in Fizztop that I really knew who he was.”

Mags was forcibly reminded of that day and how tense William had seemed. She hadn't asked him about it because there were too many other things going on, but she had noticed. But it all made a lot more sense with Mason's revelation. “And you somehow didn't tell anyone else in the Pack that you two were involved?”

“Nope. No one who's still alive, anyway. Not that Grant and Parker would have really given a shit had I told them, but I figured fewer people would be inclined to trust me if they knew I was sleepin' with an Operator.”

“A wise assumption.”

They'd stopped walking in the middle of the path, just past the barricades in front of Cappy's Cafe. They were just within sight of the amphitheater and the guard who was standing at the gate. It didn't look like she'd caught sight of them yet.

“I want to tell them,” Mason said abruptly. “It's all a matter of timing. They gotta be eased into it, made to think it's a good thing—or at least, beneficial to them. That's the trick.”

Mags agreed, but she could also see how it would be a tough sell. “They'd see it as a power imbalance. They'd think you're beholden to us, but not vice versa.” She couldn't believe the words that were about to come out of her mouth. “In a way, you might have had better luck if it was you and me instead of you and William.”

Mason smirked. “Considering the way you've been eyeballing Lizzie, I didn't think you'd be into that.”

She felt a wave of irritation, quickly followed by disgust, but she pushed it down. “I'm bisexual. You're just not my type.”

Mason chuckled. “No offense intended. Me too, actually. But I get what you're saying. They could think you were having William manipulate me, which definitely seems within the realm of possibility. Of course, the only people who'd actually think that would be people who don't actually know me.

“Look, I'll find some way to tell them. Some time. I don't want to keep it hidden. But it may take awhile.”

“You do what you think is best. Just be warned: I've already seen what William's like with a broken heart. If you put him through that again, they'll never find your body. They never found the last man's, either.”

For a second, she was certain she saw a flash of confusion across his face, but then it was gone. “You got nothing to worry about,” he said smoothly, and started off toward the amphitheater. “Hey!” he yelled at the guard. “The psycho bitch is dead!”

The guard let out a joyful howl and threw open the gate to let him through. Once Mason was inside, Mags finally turned around and strode back to the Parlor.

In the few minutes she'd been gone, the dining room had completely emptied out, save the few bedrolls that people were now dead asleep on. Good—she had a feeling the next few days were going to be extremely draining. She checked Lizzie's room and was momentarily confused to discover that she wasn't in there until she realized that Lizzie was probably still in hers and William's room.

Sure enough, there she was, sitting at William's desk while he shifted uncomfortably on his bed.

“Hope you didn't threaten him too much,” he mumbled. It sounded like he was on a staggering amount of Med-X.

“Just once. I couldn't let him go without letting him know I won't tolerate any bullshit.”

“As long as it was only once.”

Mags considered bringing up Mason's revelation about the duration of their relationship, but decided against it. It didn't particularly matter. “Everyone else out there is asleep, and frankly, I'm shocked both of you are still awake.”

“We were waiting for you,” Lizzie said.

Mags smiled.

It almost felt like old times—back before Nuka-World, even before the Stockpile, way back when they were first starting out and they all slept on two or three mattresses shoved together. But there were a few differences now, namely that William was across the room instead of right next to them, and there was something inherently more intimate with Lizzie lying next to her now. She wasn't a fool, she knew what was different—but she couldn't get enough of looking at Lizzie, enjoying the way Lizzie looked at her. Even after William had finally quit squirming and his breathing quieted, neither Mags nor Lizzie could fall asleep. Mags was exhausted, but she was too excited to sleep, not when she finally had everything she ever wanted right here.

She intertwined her fingers with Lizzie's, letting her free hand rest on Lizzie's hip. Lizzie trailed her hand up and along her arm. Mags thought back to when she was a child—even back then, she was only ever comfortable with William and Lizzie touching her. They were the only ones she'd ever trusted. “We need to sleep,” she murmured, tracing circles with her thumb.

“I know. William seems to think there's going to be some kind of party tonight,” Lizzie whispered. “Considering what we know of the Operators and the Pack, that doesn't seem to be too far-fetched.”

“It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest.” On impulse, Mags tugged her closer and shifted so they were only a few inches apart. Lizzie smiled and wrapped her free arm around Mags's waist, running her hand across her back possessively. Mags was suddenly acutely aware that she was still sweaty from where her armor, now in the footlocker under her bed, had pressed against her body, but Lizzie didn't seem to mind. “I love you,” Mags said, brushing her lips against Lizzie's.

Lizzie smiled, ducking her head and tucking herself under Mags's chin. “I love you, too.” She sighed happily and gave Mags a gentle squeeze.

Somehow, with Lizzie's heart beating so close to hers, she finally felt safe and relaxed. Nothing could hurt them. Not anymore. Even though just a few moments ago, she thought she was too excited to sleep, it seemed like the stress of the past twelve hours was finally starting to wear on her, and as she felt her eyes drifting closed, she felt more content than she'd been since that first night in Goodneighbor nearly nineteen years before.

***

When she finally woke up, it was nearly three in the afternoon. Yawning, she reluctantly extracted herself from Lizzie's grip, taking care not to wake her, and pulled on her armor. William was still asleep, too, but she blamed that on the Med-X more than anything else.

As she expected, the dining room was relatively empty aside from a few Operators snickering about something in the corner. She didn't have a good feeling about that. “What's so funny?” she asked sharply.

One of them poked their heads up. “Overboss just got a haircut, thanks to Tony,” he said.

That wasn't what she expected. “And that's humorous because...?”

“He looks like a completely different person,” a second one said. “Just like an Operator, actually.”

“Which Gage apparently likes,” muttered a third, loud enough for Mags to hear.

The laughter started up again.

“I thought the Overboss had better taste, but it looks like I was wrong,” the second one said with a giggle.

That was not the news Mags expected to wake up to this afternoon, but it was certainly interesting. She sat down at one of the tables and lit a cigarette, wondering how long it had been since she'd actually seen a straight person. Her stomach growled and she realized it had been nearly a day since she'd eaten last, but even though her stomach was empty, she didn't particularly feel hungry.

A couple of Operators strolled out of the Parlor with crates full of whiskey and bourbon, and another followed them, drinking from a bottle of moonshine and carrying a couple of boards over her shoulder. A few minutes later, another group traipsed in, rummaged in the back room, and hurried back out, guitars in hand and the last two rolling out a drum kit on wheels.

Mags stubbed out her cigarette, decided she'd probably find out where the party was by finding the music later, and headed into the kitchen for a Salisbury steak.

William stayed passed out cold for most of the day, only waking long enough to grumble about his leg killing him and gulp down some water before shooting up another syringe of Med-X and falling asleep again. Mags made a mental note to watch his Med-X consumption—the last thing they needed was for him to relapse. She didn't find it likely, since the last time it was a problem was when he was under extreme emotional duress, but she also wasn't going to rule it out.

Lizzie wandered into the kitchen a few minutes later, stretching and futilely trying to smooth down her sleep-tousled hair with her fingernails. It was messy, sticking up at odd angles and a lock in back smushed up, and it reminded Mags of their first few weeks out of Diamond City, living in Hardware Town and Goodneighbor. That was when Mags had first realized that she was in love with Lizzie. Before then, when she'd contemplated the idea of Lizzie winding up with William, she had assumed it was an odd kind of jealousy, like if they had each other, neither of them would need her anymore, even if William _was_ her brother. It wasn't until the morning before they planned to sneak back into Diamond City, when she'd woken up next to Lizzie in all her sleepy glory, slow and lazy smile on her face, that it had all come crashing down. No, she was jealous of _William_ , had wanted Lizzie all to herself, even though she knew that if there came a time when William and Lizzie began a relationship, she would keep her mouth shut and wish them the best. She wanted them both to be happy, but even so, she was secretly relieved when they discovered William was gay. At least then she stopped worrying about them ending up together.

And it turned out that Lizzie had loved her the whole time. If she'd known, she would have said something years ago—but it didn't matter anymore, not when Lizzie wrapped her arms around Mags from behind and kissed her neck. All things considered, this was the happiest she'd ever been.

“Morning, love,” Lizzie murmured.

“It's after three,” Mags pointed out.

“Mmm. Still morning. I just woke up.”

Mags turned in Lizzie's arms. “Fair enough. Good morning.” She kissed Lizzie lightly. “I was thinking—Dixie and Savoy and the rest of the Disciples are probably still holed up in Fizztop.”

Lizzie pulled back, the softness in her gaze sharpening. “I'd forgotten all about them. What's the plan?”

“William's not fighting fit right now, so I'm reluctant to deny him the opportunity for revenge, but we can't let them stay there until he recovers. I say we get Mason, maybe the Overboss and Gage, see if we can clear out that nest of rad-rats. After some food, of course.”

“The bulk of their force was in the Power Plant,” Lizzie said thoughtfully. “The remainder wouldn't be so difficult. Sounds cathartic.”

“Well then, let's hurry up and eat and get dressed, then we'll go to the amphitheater.”

A half an hour later, they were strolling out of the Parlor with their rifles and all the spare ammo they could carry, making their way to the gate of the amphitheater. The guard looked hesitant to let them in fully armed, but when he propped open the door to yell to Mason, he beckoned them in, so the guard didn't give them any more trouble.

“Operators,” he said with a bit more civility than Mags initially expected. Then again, he _was_ fucking Mags's brother and Mags knew it, so that probably had a lot to do with it. Besides, now that the Disciples were gone—mostly—they could form an alliance of sorts. “What's going on?”

“We still have a den of snakes in our backyard,” Mags said. “I'm not keen on the idea of letting them survive to mount a counterattack, and we thought you'd welcome the chance to help us clean them out once and for all.”

It took a moment for Mason to fully register what she was talking about, but once he did, he grinned. “Yeah, sounds like fun.” He reached behind his tacky throne and grabbed a bat and a rifle, and headed over to meet them. “Well-deserved, too.”

“William won't be able to fight for awhile,” Mags muttered, taking care to ensure no Pack members heard her as they strolled out of the amphitheater, “so I assumed you'd want to help us wreak some revenge in his place.”

“Certainly a bonus, not to mention the axes I have to grind with Dixie in the first place. Don't know how many of my people she's killed.”

“Nor mine.” It was weird to walk down Nuka-Town's main street now. Without any Disciples milling around—the ones that hadn't been shot down out here, and there had been several, had fled to the relative safety of Fizztop—the Operators seemed to relax a bit more. There was no more target practice going on right outside the Parlor anymore, and the few gang members who weren't involved outside Cola-Cars were drinking already and exchanging jokes. Looking more closely, she noticed that it wasn't just Operators out here, but some Pack members, and they all seemed to be getting along better.

“Never thought I'd see the day,” Mason said. They emerged by the pond. The surrounding area was completely devoid of any people—all the Disciples were either dead or hiding. “Kinda makes you wonder, doesn't it?”

_Wonder what?_ Mags wanted to ask, but Lizzie, at least, seemed to understand what he was saying. “With one gang out of the picture, the other two would realize they have more in common than they thought. Colter kept us all at each others' throats. But I think... you're right. No matter who ended up making their last stand at the Power Plant—whether Nisha or you or us—the dynamic with the other two would change.”

Mags rolled that around in her head. If Mason had been the one stupid enough to try to overrun the Power Plant, she was sure she could grow to respect Nisha more—not that she hadn't in the first place. If she was being honest, the three of them—her, Nisha, and Mason—all had a fair amount of respect for each other, if not their respective gangs. Mags had a healthy admiration for the way Nisha had been able to keep the Disciples under control for as long as she had, and it couldn't be easy to stay Alpha of a gang whose power hierarchy kept changing as members attempted to assert dominance. She wondered what Nuka-World would be like without the Operators, if her nightmares had come true and it had been her and William at the top of the Power Plant. She didn't doubt that the Disciples and the Pack would band together to slaughter the rest of her Operators.

“This is it,” Mags said, hand on the door into Fizztop. It sounded strangely quiet in there. She had no idea what they were walking into, but she was certain that the three of them could handle it.

Lizzie gave the magazine of her rifle an experimental wiggle. “Let's do this.”

Mags threw the doors open and the three of them burst in.

And the reason for the eerie silence became immediately apparent.

There were nearly a dozen Disciple corpses—fresh, judging from the blood—littering the main floor. They were almost décor next to the rest of the general slaughterhouse ambiance. She hadn't seen the interior of Fizztop in months, not since they'd first taken Nuka-Town, and she fought back a wave of nausea, both from the sight and the smell of so much rotting meat, drying blood, and something intangible, something horrific.

“Shit. These fuckers were insane,” Mason muttered.

From up on the structure, a scream rent the air. They all pointed their rifles up, just in time to see someone go flying off the top and land about ten feet from them. “F—finally,” they heard her voice gasp before she went still. Dixie.

A face and a rifle appeared over the railing, aiming at them, but it was only Gage, and as soon as he saw them, he lowered his gun. “Hey, boss,” he said over his shoulder, “Mason, Mags, and Lizzie are here.”

“Too bad they missed the party,” they heard the Overboss say with a chuckle.

Footsteps descended as the Overboss and Gage came down from the structure while Lizzie went to go pull Dixie's mask off. Mags had to admit that she was more than a little curious to see what Dixie looked like under the mask, but she was momentarily, unforgivably distracted when the Overboss finally swung into sight.

Well. That certainly explained the giggling. Her Operators had been mooning over him like a bunch of teenagers, and now she understood why. His scraggly, unkempt beard was gone, shaved down to a neat strip along his jaw and meeting a trim mustache. Gone too was the shoulder-length mess of dirty-blond hair, buzzed wickedly short on the sides and the top swept to one side. The whole bulk of his hair had been dyed a bright purple, too, and he no longer wore his sunglasses or bandana. Even more unnerving, with all the extra hair gone, he no longer looked like he was forty-five years old. It was clear now that he was maybe thirty at the oldest, and that was pushing it, making him the youngest out of all of them.

Now she understood what William had seen in him. Under all that hair, he'd been gorgeous.

He looked remarkably like an Operator at first glance, just what her gang members had said, although his leg armor and an arm piece were definitely Pack armor. The chest piece, however, was all Operator, the same style that William wore with the massive shoulder guards and cheekily-welded bow tie. It was an odd mix but a surprisingly good look.

Apparently, she wasn't the only one to think so. Mason's jaw had dropped the moment he saw Apollo and even Lizzie couldn't stop staring. At least they were all in agreement on that point.

“Well, it looks like you had enough fun for all of us,” Mags said, the first to recover.

“But I guess we all had the same idea. I wasn't crazy about living right over them, knowing they could swarm out and attack at any moment.” Apollo shrugged. “If I'd known you were coming, though, I would have waited.”

“Well, there _are_ still the ones left in Kiddie Kingdom and Dry Rock Gulch,” Gage pointed out.

“Hmm. Forgot about those. Well, we can get to those tomorrow. There's only a handful out there anyway. And I suppose that'll leave both parks open again,” Apollo added with a sly glance toward Mags and Mason.

“Any thoughts on that, boss?” Lizzie asked, standing up. She'd managed to yank off Dixie's helmet, finally revealing crown of golden curls and a frankly pretty face.

“'Course I do. I'm gonna give Kiddie Kingdom to the Pack and Dry Rock Gulch to the Operators.”

“Always wanted my own castle,” Mason said with a grin.

Mags felt slightly irritated by that, but she consoled herself with the knowledge that, again, it wasn't her gang in a park that had been overrun by ferals, and the Operators still had more parks than the Pack.

The Overboss strolled out, slinging his rifle over his shoulder with Gage two steps behind him, leaving the three of them behind, staring at the door.

“That was... interesting,” Lizzie said finally.

“What was, the fact that the Overboss suddenly got hot?” Mason said.

Mags quickly covered her mouth to hide her grin.

“Uh. Well, I wouldn't have put it _exactly_ like that, but yes.”

“I'm glad we're all on the same page there,” Mags said. “We should get out of here. Someone needs to warn that useless one in the Parlor.”

Lizzie snorted with laughter as the three of them headed out.

* * *

_“Yet another anonymous note: 'Dear Overboss, if you're listening to this, you're dumber than I thought.' What? What is that even supposed to mean?”_

***

Before the sun set, the party had started. A four-piece band from the Operators finished setting up on the steps to Cola-Cars and were already providing music, drowning out the lone radio currently tuned to RedEye's shitty station. A group in the back was listening to Diamond City Radio, smoking and playing cards while the party raged on around them. A few Pack members had gotten their hands on some fireworks—Lizzie had no idea from where, or if they'd somehow managed to make them themselves—and were lighting them off in between songs, and another was wrestling with one of the dogs. Most of the gang members, both Operators and Pack, seemed content to get sky-high, drink their weight in whiskey (Operators tending bar off to the side), and dance along. Less than an hour later, just as the sky began to turn dusky and bright with stars, someone had the decent idea to light a bonfire in the middle of the crowd. All in all, it was cathartic, and Lizzie felt a great sense of contentment as the night wore on.

That probably had a lot to do with the fact that Mags hardly left her side once. Although they were both acutely aware of William's absence (he'd woken up briefly after they'd come back from Fizztop, surprised to hear that they'd been gone in the first place, and stayed awake just long enough to wolf down a ribeye steak and some Nuka-Cherry before falling asleep again), Lizzie couldn't help but wonder how different things might be if he were able to be here. She wondered if Mags would be standing quite so close to her—or if, maybe, he might leave them to stand near Mason.

It would be a good idea, she thought, if they spent a little more time together in public before they announced their relationship. It would give their gangs a chance to warm up to it instead of throwing it at them without warning. Then again, it wasn't really her call to make. Besides, some of the Operators were already giving her and Mags curious looks, especially when Mags held her hand or ducked her head to kiss her. It had happened a few times already, but Lizzie ignored the stares—she was too grateful to have Mags back and to know she felt the same.

And then there was the Overboss, right in the middle of things, chugging a bottle of vodka. Gage looked irritated when Apollo knocked back the bottle and pitched it, empty, over the heads of the crowd to shatter in the dirt near the gates to the cheers of the other raiders. The annoyance melted off Gage's face, though, when Apollo looped his arm around his waist and pulled him in for a kiss. Lizzie had to cover her grin at the flustered blush that replaced the irritation on his face—she was certain she'd never seen him wear _that_ expression. He definitely wasn't pushing Apollo away, either.

The party wore on well into the night. The crowd began thinning out around two in the morning, with people disappearing in pairs and trios. Mason wandered over with three beers in his hand, offering one each to her and Mags, who both accepted. Together, they lingered against one of the archways, exchanging idle small talk. Lizzie was only half-paying attention. Between the two or three drinks the Operators tending bar had already given her, the beer in her left hand, and Mags's hand in her right, she felt blissfully out of it; everything had the soft haze of the slightly inebriated.

The Operators' band took their final bows around two-thirty to thunderous applause from those still around. Lizzie saw RedEye sulking near the bar—she was pretty sure none of his music had ever garnered such an enthusiastic reaction. No wonder he'd refused to play their song on his station. Doubtless people would start requesting them over his music. She almost felt bad for him—almost.

She closed her eyes and rested her head against Mags's shoulder, towards the front since her armor was in the way. In fact, their armor clanged together because neither of them had been foolish enough to leave their armor in the Parlor. It would be a long time before any of them felt comfortable around anyone in the Pack to stop wearing their armor—the exception being William with Mason.

Mags chuckled quietly and wrapped her arm around Lizzie. She felt Mags's lips press into her hair, and Lizzie didn't care that Mason was right here. He and Mags went right on talking—their conversation had shifted to discussing the pockets of Disciples who were still holding out in the park—and Lizzie suddenly remembered the fact that Dixie had modified her Persuasion grenades (just as Mason himself had, albeit in a different way) to make them dangerous. Dixie had taken to calling her brand a “Fury grenade”—they would make whoever inhaled the fumes violent, even against their allies. Lizzie didn't know if, like hers, they would only affect settlers, or if they would also affect raiders the same way, but to her, it seemed worth it to mention in order to prepare.

“Should probably warn folks to keep gas masks on them in case they run into any Disciples out in the parks,” Lizzie said.

“Why—oh. Dixie's grenades,” Mags said.

“ _My_ grenades, that _she_ mutilated,” Lizzie said bitterly. “And I already know that you did, too,” she added to Mason. “Hope you enjoyed using my year and a half of research and development.”

“Hey, it was good shit. If it was garbage, I wouldn't have had anything to work with,” Mason said, looking thoroughly unapologetic. “Besides, everyone needs a hobby.”

“Unfortunately, it's difficult to determine what kind of effect they might have on our people, since the original grenades only seemed to work on farmers. But what I want to know is how non-Operators keep getting their hands on Operator gear,” Lizzie said.

“They were dead when I found them. Seemed a shame not to put those grenades to good use.”

“I'll bet Dixie would have said the same thing.”

Mason smirked, took a swig from his bottle, and walked away.

“I was waiting for him to leave,” Lizzie said once he was out of earshot.

Mags laughed. “I got the impression you drove him off on purpose.”

“Not that I'm not grateful for the beer—” she finished hers off and dropped the bottle “—but something tells me he's going to be overstaying his welcome a lot soon.”

“Probably.” Mags set down her half-empty bottle on top of a garbage can. “Which means we should probably take advantage of any time he's not hanging around.” She dipped her head to kiss Lizzie again.

“My thoughts exactly,” Lizzie murmured.

“Come on, let's get out of here. The party's pretty much over anyway.”

Lizzie smirked. “I don't know, I thought it was just beginning.”

They managed to slip away relatively unnoticed and made their way back to the Parlor. They'd gone back down to only one guard at the door now that they knew that Nuka-Town, at least, was devoid of Disciples, and he nodded at them as they walked in. Inside, there were only a few people still awake, and all of them were smoking and talking in the corner.

Lizzie barely paid them any attention once they were halfway through the main room. Mags still had her fingers twined through Lizzie's and they were both heading to the kitchen and Lizzie's room. “William's trying to sleep. Wouldn't want to bother him,” Mags said in an innocent tone that hinted at nothing innocent at all.

That was just the way Lizzie wanted it, anyway. Sleeping was the furthest thing from her mind right now.

***

Mags was dead asleep, but Lizzie continued to rub her back. It was the first time she'd ever allowed herself to feel comfortable touching her, the first time she'd been able to feel this close to her—the first time she'd gotten a good look at the scars crisscrossing Mags's skin. William had the same scars, of course, but Lizzie still felt a bubble of rage well up at the thought. She knew the story—Evelyn and Franklin Black, in their forties, had desperately wanted a child. They'd undergone fertility treatments and finally ended up pregnant with twins. Things had been fine for a few years, until Mags and William had dared assert their personalities, something Evelyn Black hadn't been able to tolerate. She'd beaten them for every tiny infraction, for not remaining the docile little dolls she'd wanted. Lizzie's free hand balled into a fist on her thigh. She couldn't understand how Evelyn Black could treat her children so cruelly, permanently scarring them.

Her beautiful Mags... beautiful, fearless, strong, vicious, cunning, unstoppable, perfect. She was glad they'd killed Evelyn and Frank Black all those years ago, but she almost wished they could kill them again.

_No one will ever hurt you again_ , Lizzie silently promised her.

“Hey, love. Are you alright?” Mags caught her free hand without opening her eyes, running her thumb across Lizzie's knuckles. Lizzie hadn't realized she was awake.

“I'm with you, aren't I?”

Mags's full lips quirked into a smile and she pressed a kiss to Lizzie's hip. “You're tense. I can help you with that, if you'd like.”

Lizzie knew exactly what kind of help Mags was offering, and she grinned in spite of her lingering anger at Mags's mother. “I was just thinking. It's a good thing you already killed her, because otherwise I'd do it myself.”

“Who?” Mags asked, finally opening her eyes. “Nisha?”

“No. Sorry. I was referring to your mother.”

“Oh.” Her expression darkened slightly. “That stupid, sadistic bitch got what she deserved.”

“You'll hear no argument from me. I'm glad for it. I just don't understand why she hurt you in the first place.”

“Because she was a stupid, sadistic bitch, that's why. She only ever did two good things in her life—give me William, and die.”

“I count three. She gave me you, too.”

Mags closed her eyes again, wrapping her arms around Lizzie. “It'll be a long time before I forgive myself for not telling you sooner.”

“There's nothing to forgive,” Lizzie said, continuing to run her fingers along Mags's spine. A trail of goosebumps rose up in their wake. “Besides, if we'd talked about this years ago, who's to say we would have wound up here at all? We probably would have been so distracted with each other that we wouldn't get anything done.”

Mags laughed. “Maybe you're right. Perhaps this did work out for the best. But still... I spent a lot of days wondering. If I had just gotten up the courage to say something, even a year ago...”

“We're here now, right where we need to be,” Lizzie said. “It's alright. It probably sounds trite to say, but I never wanted anyone but you. If I had known at the beginning that we would end up like this, I would have waited a hundred years. As it is, twenty years seems like a blessing. The fact that we're still alive right now to enjoy this... we started this gang twenty-two years ago, but _this_ , this is the start of our empire.”

The calculating smile that Lizzie was so familiar with spread across Mags's face. “Our empire, huh? I like that idea. And considering the fact that the Overboss is still taking over settlements, I'd say it's accurate. With you and William, I like those odds.”

* * *

_“Hey, whoever convinced N.I.R.A. to stand over me while I was sleeping, thanks a lot. You owe me a new mattress.”_

***

Not even Med-X left him feeling quite this calm. He wasn't entirely sure at the moment why it'd taken them so long to fuck like that, but he wished they'd done it sooner.

Now he understood why Mason was usually so eager to get into his pants.

“Doin' okay?” Mason asked quietly.

Keeping his eyes closed, William nodded. “Just fine.” _I love him. And he loves me, too._

Not that he'd said as much since Mags had asked two weeks ago. Part of him still wished she hadn't. How was he supposed to pretend he'd be alright if Mason turned around and betrayed them, betrayed _him_ , when she knew he loved Mason? He hated the vulnerability of that admission.

“Can I ask you somethin'?” Mason said. “Been wonderin' for awhile now.”

“Sure,” William said, bracing himself for an invasive question.

“Who's older, you or Mags?”

That wasn't what William had been expecting to hear. Laughing, he finally opened his eyes. “Who do you think is older?”

“If I had to guess, I'd say Mags. But not by much. Maybe two years.”

William laughed again. “Wrong on both counts. I'm older, not that it matters much when it's only eight minutes.”

“You're twins?”

“No, I'm actually her stunt double,” William said sarcastically. Mason snorted with laughter. “Of course, Lizzie's older than both of us by about three months.”

“And how old _are_ you?”

“What, trying to figure out if you're older than me?”

“Maybe,” Mason said, but he was grinning.

“We're thirty-four.”

“So you're older. I'm thirty-one.”

“Don't worry, I'm pretty sure you're still older than the Overboss. He can't even be thirty.”

“Good point.” Mason flung an arm possessively across William's chest, and William couldn't resist pulling him closer.

“So since we're asking ridiculous questions like 'who's older,' what I want to know is, what's your last name? It's kind of weird that we've been doing this for nearly two years and I still don't know that.”

“Mason _is_ my last name,” he said. “It's my first name that's so mysterious.”

“Okay, fine. What's your first name?”

Mason chuckled into his neck. “Matthew. My middle name's Brandon.”

_Matthew Brandon Mason._ William rolled it around in his head and decided he liked it. “Matthew, huh? I bet no one's called you Matt in years.”

“No, not since I joined the Pack. Most of us go by last names anyway. But no one really calls you Will, either, do they?”

“Aside from you, no. I stopped going by Will when I was thirteen, maybe fourteen years old? Mags and Lizzie use it sometimes, but only when no one else is around.”

“So what's 'Mags' short for? I bet it's something horrendous,” Mason— _Matthew_ , William wanted to get used to thinking of him like that—said with a grin.

William choked on a laugh. “Yeah, it is, but I'm not telling you. She's literally never used her full name. Even our mother called her Maggy.”

“ _Maggy_?” Matthew howled with laughter.

“Yeah, don't mention that, ever. Mags hates that name almost as much as I hated being called Bill.”

“Oh, my God, those are horrible names. Did anyone ever call you Billy?”

“No, thank God. And if you ever call me that, I don't care how much I love you, I will punch you.” _Whoops_ , that had slipped out without his meaning for it.

Matthew, naturally, focused on entirely the wrong part of that statement. “So you really do love me?”

“Yes, although sometimes I wonder why.”

“I thought you'd just said it to be polite or something.”

“And I'm not entirely convinced you didn't just say yes to keep Mags from killing you right there.”

“Come on, what do you take me for?”

“A raider.”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine, that's fair. But I wasn't lying. I meant it. I wouldn't have gone back to find you if I didn't.”

“I suppose that makes sense. I mean, it _doesn't_ , not really, but I understand the logic behind it.”

“Wow. He really did a number on you, didn't he?”

“Who?” William asked—but he was pretty sure he knew who Matthew was talking about. He just couldn't figure out how he'd found out about James. He'd never mentioned him, not once.

“Mags said the last time someone broke your heart, they never found the body.”

_Oh._ “That's... not really how it went.”

“So how did it go?”

“It's a long story.”

“We've got time.”

He'd never actually recounted this story himself, just heard it—in part—whispered in the Parlor, over the fires at the Stockpile, the tellers casting furtive glances at him, at Mags, at Lizzie. “We used to have official lieutenants. Four of them—James, Cash, Lydia, Peter. We made them back in '77. We were holed up in Andrew Station at the time, and Mags decided that since we had so many people, we'd send out a squad to capture Revere, set up a second outpost. She didn't want to send out Lizzie or me to head the group, and she didn't want to leave us behind to lead the group herself, so she came up with the lieutenant idea and asked us for ideas on who to promote. James was my suggestion. They didn't know at the time that I was involved with him. They didn't find out until after it was all over.”

“Why didn't you tell them?”

“I was twenty-three, twenty-four years old. It was the first time I ever felt anything for, well, anyone. I mean, I always knew I was gay, but I didn't tell them that, either. It didn't seem important. And then when Mags told us about her plan, I had this idea of James proving himself to be invaluable to the Operators, and then I'd tell Mags and Lizzie about our relationship.”

“I think I understand.”

“It was needlessly optimistic. Mags sent him, Lydia, and Peter to Revere with a group of about twenty that the three of them hand picked. Everything was fine for a couple of weeks. They took the station, ran their raids, recruited a few more people, sent us our cut of the caps. I think they had about thirty at their height. Then the money started showing up late, or it wasn't enough, or it didn't show up at all. About two months after they stormed Revere, a runner showed up at Andrew. There'd been an uprising.”

“Shit. They betrayed you?”

“Yeah. Not all of them—Lydia and Peter and everyone they'd chosen. They... they killed anyone who wanted to stay loyal to us.” William's eyes were stinging. It still hurt to think about. “Including James.

“Naturally, Mags was livid. We left a small group at Andrew, including Cash, to hold the station, and the rest of us marched on Revere. We gunned down every last one of them except Lydia and Peter. Those two, we dragged out onto the beach to make an example of them, for anyone else who might have been thinking about turning on us. They wouldn't tell me which one of them killed James, so I... I butchered them both. You've seen what the Disciples did to their victims—that was nothing compared to what I did to Lydia and Peter. Peter got it worse since he tried to run, but Lizzie shot him in the leg and our people dragged him back. Couldn't let him think he'd get off so easily.”

“I guess Mags and Lizzie found out then that you loved him, huh?”

“Sort of. We went back to Andrew and I just went into the station and shot up... shit, must have been half a dozen syringes of Med-X. Lizzie came down to find me and I guess she put two and two together. And then Mags came down and found us and Lizzie explained. I didn't need to tell them, they just knew.

“I went back a few days later. It took me that long to come down from the Med-X. But as Mags said, I never found his body or what might have been left of him. Part of me hoped that maybe he'd gotten away and was still alive somewhere, but if he is, he never came back. I'm not an idiot—I know he isn't coming back by now, but I still dream about it sometimes. The whole thing was a total mess.”

“And what if he did come back?” Matthew asked quietly.

“Then he'd better have a damn good reason for being gone nearly eleven years.”

“And if he did?”

“I don't know, okay? If you're asking me if I'd take him back, I don't know. It would depend on a lot. Two years ago, I would have said yes, but two years ago, I wasn't in love with you. You're asking me about something that'll never happen. He's not coming back. And if I could, I'd forget all about him. I lost a year, keeping myself so high on Med-X that I couldn't remember him, but I couldn't function, either. I probably would have killed myself if I hadn't known it would kill Mags, too. I don't ever want to get that bad again.”

Matthew was silent for a few minutes, his thumb tracing circles on William's shoulder. “I'm sorry,” he said finally. “I got no right to be jealous. Like you said, it was years ago. I just... I guess I just finally realized how little I really know about you an' your past, an' I wonder if I'm gonna end up as someone you wanna forget, too. Not that I plan on it, but I don't think _he_ planned on it, either.”

William was glad Matthew hadn't actually said James's name. He wasn't sure why, but the thought of it stung. “I suppose only time will tell.” He didn't like that answer, but there was no way of knowing. Maybe someone usurped Matthew as Alpha, and he wound up like Grant and Parker—missing, presumably dead. William wasn't sure he could handle another lover disappearing without a trace, without any real closure.

If it ever ended up coming to pass, though, he wouldn't have to wait for an order from Mags—he'd go out into the Wasteland himself and search for the body until he found it. With undeniable proof he'd been murdered, the Pack wouldn't let the new Alpha live.

Of course, William hadn't mentioned the other reason for the Med-X addiction he'd developed in the wake of James's death. It was an unshakeable guilt. After all, he'd been the one to offer up James's name as a suggestion. If he hadn't, if William had just kept James close, he wouldn't have gone to Revere with Lydia and Peter and their crew. They wouldn't have killed him. If it wasn't for William and his suggestion, James might still be alive and here right now.

It was the only death he ever lost sleep over.

He was brought sharply back to reality by Matthew's quiet voice. “Hey. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to dredge up bad memories.” His fingers curled lightly around William's biceps, gently tracing over the scars on the back of his arm.

“I was going to tell you eventually,” William said. “What about you? Any ghosts in your past?”

Matthew chuckled. “None that matter. There were a few people I fucked that I actually liked, but none that... none that I loved. I could lie and say I even cared about some of them, but we don't get too sentimental in the Pack. The truth is, you're the only one I ever loved, and that scares the shit outta me, y'know? Like, of all people, why'd it have to be you?”

William could sympathize. The logical part of him was furious—why did he have to fall for anyone, let alone a man from a rival gang? At least it wasn't Savoy, already hopelessly in love with Nisha and dead now anyway. But Matthew Mason—two years ago, he wouldn't have believed it.

The worst part of knowing this could only end badly was the realization that it was too late. He couldn't back out now even if he wanted to. Matthew would wind up dead and William would wind up back where he'd been before, clinging to the memories and the shattered pieces of his black heart, drowning in a sea of Med-X and bourbon, and there'd be nothing he could do to stop it.

At least this time he knew—he'd never let there be a next time. Not for him. He'd die before he'd let anyone get this close again.

Matthew kissed his neck and William felt himself relaxing again, unaware until that moment that he'd tensed up. Before he could stop himself, he turned his head and caught Matthew's mouth with his. He felt Matthew grinning, and then his hand came up to run through William's hair. Then Matthew was moving over him, William spreading his legs, Matthew settling between his thighs (taking care not to jostle William's stitched leg), sliding back inside him—William gasped, his nails sinking into Matthew's back—

“You okay?” Matthew breathed into his ear, stilling his hips, which was the exact opposite of what William wanted him to do.

“Fucking _move_ ,” he snapped, and Matthew obliged him, setting up a slow, steady pace—too slow. It felt so good whenever Matthew was fully hilted inside him, but he took too long to get there—

“Faster—fuck, Matthew, _faster—_ ” He whimpered, hating the needy sound that escaped him, knowing he was about to beg. It was probably what Matthew wanted to hear. “Fuck—Matthew, _please—_ fast- _ohhh_...”

His last syllable cut off in a moan; Matthew apparently _had_ been waiting for him to beg, something William had never done before in his life, because as soon as Matthew heard that “please,” he picked up the pace. William's eyes closed, his grip on Matthew's skin tightened, his hips rose to meet every one of Matthew's thrusts. Matthew's hand slid down to his waist, and somehow, that simple touch made William feel possessed, _loved_. He never wanted to give up the way Matthew felt buried deep inside him, but there was something to be said for those light, gentle touches that did nothing but remind him that Matthew was there and he cared.

Not that he'd realized until Mags had asked, but it should have been obvious. The way Matthew had spoken to him, touched him right after icing those Disciples—hell, now that William knew, he understood what had really happened the night Matthew had brought along the bottle and they'd ended up just talking, drinking, and sleeping. That had been heavenly.

Then Matthew hitched him higher, pulling William half onto his lap, his cock hitting that same spot as before—William gasped in pleasure, his whole body reeling from the sensation—Matthew leaned over him, one hand planted on the mattress next to his head, and even though Matthew was shorter than him by a few inches, he was wider, more muscle packed onto his frame, and William felt pleasantly boxed-in. It rose in his chest, the feeling of something huge barreling toward him, and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer, not with Matthew panting in his ear, his fingers on William's waist digging in—William let out a whine—Matthew cursed softly, his next thrust harder, and again, William dizzily wondered why they'd waited nearly two years to do this. Then Matthew _growled_ , and William should not have found that as hot as he did, but he tried and failed to choke back a moan, and then Matthew growled again, but there was a ragged edge to it, one that William had heard before— _He's close_ , he realized, and that thought, that Matthew was that close because of him, spurred him on—he heard a moaned “ _oh, fuck_ ” and realized it was him, but it was too late. He was coming hard, harder than last time, like the orgasm was being ripped out of him, and Matthew was still fucking him—“Jesus _fuck_ , Will—so good—” and then Matthew was finally coming, setting William's teeth on edge—“ _love you love you love you so fucking much come in me want it so bad fucking love you yes yes yes so fucking good oh god—_ ”

Matthew caught his mouth, shutting him up, which was a relief since William hadn't even realized he'd been saying that out loud until he stopped talking. He felt his cheeks burning in embarrassment, especially when Matthew pulled back just far enough to breathe, “All this time I've been makin' you top when you're a natural bottom, ain't you?”

“I didn't know,” William mumbled as Matthew rolled off him, to his right. That last orgasm must have scrambled his brain because he found himself blurting, “I was a virgin before you.”

“You—what?” Matthew looked stunned. “But you and James—”

“We never... we were never alone long enough. Didn't want to get caught before I told Mags and Lizzie. Then he got made and... you know how that ended.”

“Shit.” Matthew swiped at the sweat beading his forehead with the back of his hand. “Fuck. I didn't know. Fuck. Wish you'd told me—I wouldn't have been in such a damn rush at first.” He chuckled, kissing William with a feather-light brush of his lips again. “Guess that explains why you came so fast that first time.”

William remembered that. He'd barely lasted five minutes, and Matthew had seemed irritated—and still hard—until William, acting on instinct, dropped to his knees and took him in his mouth.

“If I recall correctly, you didn't last too long either after I started sucking your cock.”

“In my defense, I had a gorgeous guy on his knees with my dick in his mouth. Which should have been my first clue that Mr. Powerful Operator only wanted my fat cock shoved up his ass instead of his shoved in mine.”

William's face flushed again even as, to his surprise, his cock twitched in interest. _It hasn't even been five minutes—what the hell?_ “Do you ever shut up?”

Matthew laughed. “No one teases you, either, huh?”

“Not like _that_.”

“I guess that's only a good thing. I'm still tryin' to wrap my head around the fact that you were a virgin before. That doesn't make sense to me.”

“What, like I was gonna sleep with any of the uptight jackasses in Diamond City?” He'd had a crush on Arturo Rodriguez when he was fifteen and he was pretty sure Arturo had liked him, too, but they'd gotten kicked out before anything could come of it. There'd been no one before James, and after him...

“I know. I mean, I get how it happened, but it still seems unbelievable. Looks like I'm gonna have to fuck you nice and slow next time.”

“And how long are you planning to keep me here? As it is, I probably won't be able to walk for a week.” William tried to sound bitter, but he was grinning.

Matthew snorted with laughter. “Until you get bored, I guess. If I had my way, I'd never stop fuckin' you.”

“I suppose it's a good thing Mags won't expect me back for hours then.”

“You shoulda seen her an' Lizzie the night after we stormed the power plant. They were all over each other.”

“I didn't have to see it. I _heard_ it.” Not only that, but he could tell by the looks on Mags's and Lizzie's faces that something had happened in the kitchen, something beyond a mere heartfelt profession of long-hidden love, while Apollo had been sewing him up—that and the way Lizzie had delicately glossed over the conversation. Fortunately, he was pretty sure Matthew wasn't familiar enough with either of them to pick up on those cues, and he certainly wasn't going to tell him.

Matthew covered his eyes, laughing. “Please tell me they didn't—”

“No, they were in Lizzie's room, which is on the other side of the Parlor. The whole place heard them. But I can't be too annoyed. That was nearly twenty years of pent-up sexual frustration.”

“Wait, _what_? Twenty years?”

“Yeah, Lizzie's had a thing for Mags since we were like fourteen, and I guess Mags fell for her a few years later, but they never said anything to each other until we got back from the plant. Honestly, it was getting kind of pathetic.”

“Did you know?”

“That they were in love with each other? Of course I did. I could see it. Pretty sure all the Operators could see it, even if Mags and Lizzie couldn't. And I must have told them a thousand times to just talk about it, but they never listened to me. I think they were both under the impression that it was unrequited, which... honestly, I understand.”

“I get that.” Matthew ran his fingers over his lips for a moment. “Y'know, I heard about love at first sight, but I didn't actually believe it existed until I... until I saw you. Then it was like being hit by lightning. Hell, until then, I didn't even know I was capable of loving anyone.”

William rolled his eyes. “Come on, you don't have to give me that garbage. You already got me right where you want me.”

“I'm being honest, Will.” Matthew sounded almost frustrated. “I fell in love with you the moment I saw you. We got a saying in the Pack: 'If you ain't standin' out, you ain't worth lookin' at.' You... you stood out. From the rest of the Operators, from the Pack, from everyone in fuckin' Nuka-Town. I took one look and I couldn't look away. I didn't know who the fuck you were—I just knew you were an Operator—and you didn't even know I existed and you already ruined me.”

William couldn't quite process it. Matthew had fallen for him that very first day? “I saw you,” he murmured. “I didn't talk to you, but I saw you standing in the corner with those other Pack guys.”

Matthew chuckled and shook his head. “I knew it. That day in the market—not the day I finally talked to you, the day you first saw me—that wasn't when I saw you. I saw you the day we took Nuka-Town. You didn't see me for another two weeks.”

“I didn't know.”

“I'm not bitter or anything. I just thought you should know. I was in the last wave with you, an' I saw you get ahold of one of those traders that tried to run. I was impressed. Until then, I hadn't thought the Operators in general were all that strong, combat-wise. You proved me wrong, and I knew I had to do something to get your attention, too. Of course... if I'd known you were William Black, Operator boss, I probably wouldn't have stalked you to the market every day until you saw me.”

“What, would you have stalked me right outside the Parlor?”

“No, I wouldn't have even bothered. I wouldn't have thought there was any way you'd give me a chance.”

“I wondered, you know. The first time I saw you looking at me, I wondered if you knew who I was. I thought maybe you had a death wish or something. And then it dawned on me that you had no clue.”

“Heh. But then you agreed to fuck me anyway, so I guess you felt something, too.”

“I was going to say no. I fully planned on it. But then you made me laugh. Not many people can do that.”

Matthew grinned. “I liked making you laugh. You looked like you needed it.”

William ran his fingers through his hair, still damp with sweat. He thought back to their first conversation, how he'd felt that odd moment of connection, like he already knew Matthew. Of course he hadn't, but maybe, somehow, he'd already been in love with him and hadn't realized it. “I did.” Mags and Lizzie made him chuckle sometimes, but it had been awhile since anyone besides Matthew had made him burst out laughing, the deep kind of laughter that warmed your insides.

Matthew made good on his promise—the next time they fucked, about an hour later, no amount of demanding or pleading made him move any faster. If William's leg hadn't still been weak, he would have flipped them over and taken control, but he couldn't, not with Matthew pinning him down. He was practically sobbing by the time Matthew mercifully picked up the pace, but it took so long to get there that it felt like his whole body was melting when he came, only a few seconds later.

They passed the next two or three days—William lost track of time—like that, sleeping and talking and fucking, with Matthew cooking something at the station every once in awhile to keep their energy up. But Matthew finally, reluctantly, said, “Come on, we should probably go back. Any longer an' I might find out there's a new Alpha.”

William threw his arm over his eyes. He knew Matthew was right—Mags would be wondering where he was—but he didn't want to move. He wanted to stay here with Matthew for a little longer. “Do we have to?”

Matthew laughed. “It'd be a good idea.” He propped himself up on his elbows and began running his fingers through William's hair. “I don't really wanna go back, either. It's gonna be real hard to go back to pretending you don't mean anything to me. Especially after all this. I... I'm gonna tell them. Today.”

William pulled his arm away from his eyes. “Do you think they'll take the news well?”

Matthew shrugged. “I hope, but honestly, I got no idea. I can pretty much guarantee there'll be a few guys who'll wanna rip me limb from limb, but as long as it's only two or three, I can handle that. If it's a few more than that...” He didn't need to finish that thought.

“Just be careful,” William said.

Matthew grinned, a show of bravado. “What's wrong, Black? You scared or somethin'?”

“No,” William lied.

“Yeah. Me neither,” Matthew said, his smile fading.

Neither of them moved, but William's mind was spinning. “That's why we spent so much time out here. You think they're going to kill you.”

“I know it's a possibility,” Matthew said hoarsely. “I just wanted to give you some good memories, and maybe something for me to think about while they kill me, if it comes to that. And besides, they might not take it bad at all. There's always the chance that they'll totally fine with it.”

“Are you sure we have to go back now?”

Matthew chuckled, leaning down to kiss him. “If I had my way, we'd never go back. I'd take you and leave the Commonwealth altogether, move out west, somewhere the Pack would never find us, and start a whole new life with you. A whole new raider gang. 'Course, I know that'll never happen. I know you'd never leave Mags and the Operators. So I'll settle for this.”

“A whole new life, huh?” William asked, trying to keep his tone teasing. “I'm not an expert on things like this, but that sounded an awful lot like a marriage proposal.”

Matthew's fingers in his hair stilled. “And if it was?”

William's heart pounded in his ears. He'd never even allowed himself to consider it—up until a few weeks ago, he hadn't even realized that Matthew loved him. But now... “How would that even work? Assuming the Pack doesn't murder you and you stay the Alpha, would we be able to make that work? Two different gangs, and we just expect everyone to go with it?”

“We'd make it work. I mean, your sister's already pretty much accepted our relationship for what it is. The rest of the Operators wouldn't take much convincing after that. Didn't you say yourself that Mags doesn't steer you wrong?”

“She never has.”

“If the Pack can accept that I'm in love with you, they should be able to deal with... with us getting married. It might be a challenge at first, but we'll figure it out.”

“I guess the only other person who might take some convincing would be the Overboss then, huh?”

“That guy?” Matthew scoffed. “He's too busy fucking Gage to give a shit. He won't care at all.”

“Wait, _what_?”

“You didn't know that? Oh, yeah, you didn't see...” Matthew chuckled. “At the party, Apollo was all over him. And Gage didn't exactly look bothered by it, if you get what I'm saying. It's pretty obvious they're fucking. Plus he calls him Porter. I haven't met anyone else who calls him that.”

William found himself laughing. He wasn't sure what exactly about the situation was so funny—maybe it was because his nerves were so frayed that he found anything even remotely ridiculous to be hilarious. He would have sat up, but he was enjoying the feeling of Matthew stroking his hair too much. “Well, that's good to know. Alright, I'll make you a deal. If you survive telling the Pack, I'll marry you.”

“Deal.” Matthew kissed him again, and William held him by the back of the head to keep him in place.

“You fight your way out if you need to,” William whispered. “Don't let them kill you if you can help it. You kill who you have to, and you come to the Parlor. The Operators'll keep them at bay. Promise me.”

“I can't make that promise. I'm Pack to my core. If the Pack decides I need to die, then I'll abide by that.”

“Don't let them kill you,” William repeated.

Matthew didn't answer.

They dressed in silence and made their way back to Nuka-Town. It was a long walk back, uneventful aside from a quickly-deflected attack by a few stingwings. It was weird to him to walk back through the arches near Fizztop, in what had once been Disciples territory. Part of him thought he could still feel the eyes of dead Disciples leering at him—but the whole area was abandoned. The Operator scavver who'd been wading in the pond looking for salvage had gotten gunned down by the Disciples when Nisha had taken the power plant, and no one bothered to come out to replace him. Even the traders who'd been out here were long gone. A few had gotten caught in the crossfire, but the rest had fled to other areas of Nuka-Town. The only living souls besides William and Matthew were Apollo and Gage, up in the Grille. William could hear the sound of a drill and assumed Apollo was working on his power armor.

He forced himself not to look back at Matthew as he headed into the Parlor, but the survivalist at the door shot him and Matthew both curious looks—it was pretty obvious they'd been walking together. Fortunately, he had the presence of mind not to say anything, and William ignored the look.

Inside, Mags was pacing the stage, a cigarette burning between her fingers. As soon as he entered the main room, she looked up. Although her expression didn't change, her shoulders relaxed slightly and the hard look in her eyes disappeared. “A whole week?”

“It was only like three days.”

He heard snickering behind him.

Mags shook her head. “It's been a week since you left.” At the stunned look on William's face, she added, “That good, huh?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Absolutely not.”

William sat down and immediately lit a cigarette of his own. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was still worried about Matthew and how the rest of the Pack would take the news. Part of him wished he'd been able to say no to him the first time, or put the brakes on it months ago. He should have known it would only end badly. Why hadn't he—?

“What's wrong?” Mags murmured. She'd left the stage and crossed the room to stand next to him.

“He's telling the Pack. Today. They'll eat him alive.”

“Hmm.” Mags glanced toward the kitchen doors, where Lizzie was lingering. “Lizzie, get your gun.” She patted his shoulder, stubbing out her cigarette. “Let's take a walk.”

The three of them hurried back out of the Parlor, rifles out.

“Did you tell him we would back him up if necessary?” Mags said.

“I told him to fight his way out and the Operators would keep the Pack at bay,” William said. “But he said that if the Pack decides he needs to die, he'll accept it.”

“That's garbage and selfish,” Mags said. “Stupid pride. It's smarter to fall back and fight that battle with more even numbers.”

“I know. That's not Pack perspective, though.” William hesitated a beat as they rounded the corner and stopped, facing the entrance to the amphitheater. “He... he asked me to marry him.”

“And what did you tell him?” Mags asked while Lizzie stared at him, stunned.

“I told him that if he survived telling the Pack, I would.”

“Then I suppose we need to make sure he survives.”

They waited out there, casually circling the street around the market, for what seemed like hours. On the plus side, the guard to the amphitheater gates never moved and they never heard any sounds of violence from inside, but on the bad side, they didn't hear anything else from inside, either. At least not until their hundredth lap or so, when there suddenly came the sound of howling and shouting.

William felt like he'd been hit with a bucket of ice. His grip on his rifle tightened as the door to the amphitheater opened and another Pack member stuck their head out, muttering something to the guard.

The guard looked stunned for a second, and then her eyes flicked over to the three of them, who had frozen about twenty yards from the door. She grinned and said something to the other Pack member, who then peered around the door, saw them, grinned as well, and ducked back inside.

A few moments later, the door cracked again. The guard turned her head to listen for a moment and then looked back at them to wave them over.

“This feels odd,” Lizzie muttered.

William agreed, but he was too anxious to say anything.

And then the door fully flew open and Matthew strode out, looking decidedly unharmed. The howling and shouting continued, but it almost sounded celebratory, and William fought back the bubble of hope that welled up inside him. “What's going on?” he asked as Matthew met them about ten feet away from the door.

“So I told them. Most of them see it as a mark of just how Alpha I am that I was able to sleep with an Operator boss before I was even Alpha.”

Mags pinched the bridge of her nose.

“So that's good, right?” William said.

“I'm sure I'm going to still get a few Alpha challenges, but most of them are on board with it. It's better than I hoped for, actually.” He grinned at William. “And, naturally, the Alpha's mate is welcome in the amphitheater whenever he wants.”

Lizzie nearly collapsed into giggles. The other three pointedly ignored her.

“Make sure the Pack knows that if I hear any of them refer to me as your 'mate,' I'll strangle them.”

“I suppose this means it's time to tell the Operators,” Mags said. “I don't expect the Pack will keep this to themselves for long.”

“Probably not,” Matthew said. “And considering I know of at least four of my people who are also fucking Operators, I think they're gonna be more open about their relationships now.”

“Wonderful,” Mags muttered. “Well, Mason, you survived telling the Pack. Looks like you get to marry my brother.”

“You told them?” Matthew said to William, shocked and—if William was reading his face correctly—a little disappointed.

“Yeah. There wasn't a reason to keep it a secret, was there?”

“I guess not, just—that was fast is all. I was hoping to be there, though.” Matthew grinned at Mags. “I wanted to see the look on your face.”

“I can show you right now.” A resigned, albeit slightly disdainful, look slid onto Mags's face. “This was my exact expression.”

“I was hoping for fury.”

“Unfortunately for you, it turns out I want William's happiness more than I hate you. And trust me, I do actually hate you. But I also trust you, so don't fuck this up. Come on, we need to get back to the Parlor.”

William had to admit that he wanted to stand out here a little longer and listen to Mags and Matthew bickering. Maybe it was because he knew now that they wouldn't provoke a war between their gangs, but their mutual antagonism was funny. Lizzie, too, looked like she was having a great time watching their verbal sparring, but she and William followed Mags when she turned around and strode back toward the Parlor; William lagged a bit behind when Matthew grabbed him by the wrist and tugged him back for a lingering kiss that he was pretty sure was more to piss off Mags than anything else.

Then they were through the doors of the Parlor, and Mags said, “This is your big news—you tell them.”

“Oh.” He hadn't expected that. She was better with words than he was. “I need a few minutes to figure out what I'm gonna say then.”

“Don't take too long. They need to hear it from us, not the Pack.” Mags headed to the stage, lighting a cigarette, but Lizzie stayed behind.

“Hey. I agree with Mags—Mason is a headache to deal with. But I haven't seen you this happy in a long time. We'll get used to him, I'm sure.” She smiled, reaching up to ruffle his hair—a feat, since he was about six inches taller than her.

“Thanks. I think.”

She nudged him and then went to join Mags on the stage.

He stayed near the doors for nearly five minutes until he finally figured out how he wanted to break the news. He knew it had to be quick—he wished he knew how Matthew had told the Pack so he could tell the Operators the same thing. But it was too late now: he was heading to the stage and the Parlor fell quiet. They could tell something big was happening.

He registered looks of mild surprise on most of their faces when _he_ was the one who started talking—usually it was Mags who told them important news. “If any of you have friends in the Pack, you're gonna hear about this pretty quick, which is why I'm telling you this now. Mason and I ha—” He stuttered; he hated having every eye on him, and he could tell based on the looks that they were all slowly figuring out where this was going. One waster had frozen with a cup of coffee halfway to her mouth. “We've been involved for—well, for awhile. Like, a year and a half. And we're getting married.”

The waster's coffee spilled out and the cup crashed to the floor.

“Wait, Mason?” a butcher near the doors said. “Like—” She gestured abstractly toward the general direction of the amphitheater. “Like the Pack's Alpha, Mason?”

“Yeah. That Mason.”

A survivalist spoke up. “Is this gonna affect our profits? We're not gonna start splitting caps with the Pack, are we?”

“Of course not.”

“Then cool. Congratulations.”

“So what's going to change?” a scavver asked. “We runnin' ops with the Pack? Are we supposed to be buddy-buddy with them now?”

Mags finally took over. “The gang will run the way it's always run. We're not collaborating with the Pack any more than we have to. With the Disciples out of the picture, we're on more solid ground and we'll be able to negotiate with the Pack when the need arises, but nothing about William and Mason's relationship is going to change the way we do things.”

“Well, then—sounds like we need to throw another party,” the scavver said.

A few people cheered, and the dead weight in William's chest disappeared. The Parlor gradually went back to business as usual, and he went into the kitchen to hunt for a bottle of bourbon. He _wanted_ a shot of Med-X, but he knew that would end up being a slippery slope. He'd just spent a week without a drop of it; the last thing he needed was a relapse.

He, Mags, and Lizzie poured their glasses. “That went better than expected.”

“I'm sure there's a few folks out there who aren't happy, but hopefully they know better than to say anything,” Lizzie said.

“Well, if they don't, they're going to answer to me,” said Mags.

* * *

_“Here's a note: 'If someone left an ear in one of the teacups, I got it.' There's no name on here, so I guess if that's your ear, good luck gettin' it back!”_

***

Lizzie's head rested on her shoulder. Flames roared up in the fire pit and Mason, sitting close to William, kept tossing tarberries into the fire, making them pop and turning the fire green in some parts. The burning tarberries smelled good, though.

Overhead, the stars looked brighter than they did in Nuka-World. Maybe it was because Oberland Station, an Operator outpost for the last few months, had no electric lights of its own to drown out the stars—light pollution, the Overboss called it.

The Overboss was actually with them, him and Gage, sitting with them around the fire. Most of the Operators at the outpost were already passed out, but a few were still awake and patrolling or hanging out by the pick-me-up stations. Apollo was staring into the fire with such intensity that Mags could tell he wasn't paying attention. It looked like his thoughts were a thousand miles away. It was strange how he could look so young and so old at the same time.

“Hey, boss,” she found herself asking, “how old are you, anyway?”

“It's complicated.”

“What? How complicated can it be?”

“Very. Are you asking me how many years it's been since I was born, or how many years I've actually aged?”

She looked around at Lizzie, William, Mason, and Gage, trying to figure out if they were listening to the same thing. “Is there a difference?”

“Yeah, actually. A significant one.”

“What, are you a vampire or something?”

The pensive look melted off Apollo's face and he snorted with laughter. “No, but now I have a new answer.”

“So how about it?” Mason said. “Both questions.”

“What's today, June fifteenth?” Apollo said, checking his Pip-Boy. “Oh, nope. Sixteenth now. Well, a week from today will be my birthday. I'll be celebrating thirty, but really, it'll be two hundred and forty years.”

“Two hundred and _forty_?” Lizzie said. “How—”

“You know I'm a vault-dweller. Came out of Vault 111. And you know that all those vaults were actually meant to be experiments run by Vault-Tec.” Apollo thought. “Vault 75, over in Malden Middle School's basement, it was some kind of experiment to make people more resilient. I don't really understand all the ins and outs, and frankly, what I do understand of it is fucked-up, but that's what I gathered from exploring it. Defunct now. Guess it lasted a hundred years or so, though.

“81 was _supposed_ to be medical experiments—developing diseases and releasing them on the population of the vault, and eventually the entire population was meant to be culled. That didn't end up panning out because the first Overboss, who knew what they were planning, didn't call the science staff when the bombs dropped—she just called for the general population. The science staff only ended up with three people, and they couldn't do much. So 81 functions basically as advertised, although not as they intended.

“95 was an experiment with drug addicts—rehabilitate them, get them clean, and five years later, someone planted inside the population opened up a secret room full of chems and booze. The idea was that they wanted to see if the addicts would relapse or something if they were confronted with what they'd been addicted to and were supposedly clean of. It... did not go well.

“114 down under Park Street Station was never finished but it was meant to take Boston's upper class and put them in substandard accommodations and subject the spoiled population to a frankly shitty environment. Shared quarters, communal showers and toilets, confusing layout—it was designed to be stressful. I can imagine it wouldn't have been pleasant.

“111's experiment was cryogenics. The day the bombs fell... my family and I and a bunch of our neighbors went into the vault expecting a new life. They put us in these pods—they said the pods would decontaminate and depressurize us. Turns out they were putting us in cryogenic storage.”

“So where's everyone else from the vault? And your family?” Lizzie asked.

“Everyone else in the vault died. Someone broke into the vault and kidnapped my infant son right out of my wife's arms and killed her when she wouldn't let him go. Then they re-froze us and when I woke up... everyone else was dead. Terminal entries said they asphyxiated in their pods. Found out later all the life support functions had been remotely diverted to my pod. So I was the sole survivor.”

“So what happened to your son?” Mason asked.

Gage was still sitting back on the grass, listening intently, although Mags got the feeling he already knew all this. He had the air of one hearing a story he'd heard before.

“Turns out the Institute had sent some of their goons to kidnap him. I don't know why. Some kind of project, raising some baby who'd been born pre-War? Who knows? When I found him, he was ten years old. Turns out it'd been that long since he'd been kidnapped. I had no way of knowing that, of course. I tracked down the guy who killed my wife and I killed him, and then I was able to find out that the Institute used teleportation to get in and out, and I figured out how to hijack that signal and get in. Eventually I was able to infiltrate the Institute again with the Minutemen and I blew the place up after I got Shaun out of there.”

Gage raised his left eyebrow but didn't say anything.

“Where's he now?”

“At the Red Rocket near Sanctuary. I was thinking of moving him to Nuka-World, though. Hell, I spend more time at the Nuka-World Red Rocket than anywhere else, and I like knowing he's surrounded by people who can actually defend themselves. ” He chuckled wryly. “Besides, the Red Rocket near Sanctuary is constantly getting attacked. Makes more sense to move him.”

While the Overboss had been telling his story, William had scooted to the side, sidling right up against Mason until they were shoulder to shoulder. Even though Mags still personally despised Mason, she had to admit that, over the last few months, William's general demeanor had brightened considerably. Gone was the faraway, melancholy look he wore sometimes—he smiled more frequently since February than he had in the previous ten years put together. She knew it was because of Mason, too, so she didn't begrudge the small gestures of affection that passed between them. Right now, they each had an arm flung out behind each other, almost around each other, and William's head was dangerously close to resting on Mason's shoulder. When she looked down at Lizzie, who had fully turned her body to press her back against Mags's side, she saw out of the corner of her eye Mason angling his head to kiss William's temple.

The gesture was understandable, though. Especially tonight. First thing tomorrow morning, the six of them—her, Lizzie, William, Mason, the Overboss, and Gage—were all heading into Diamond City. It was the first time the three of them had been there in nearly nineteen years. Mags didn't know what to expect, but according to Apollo, who had spent quite a bit of time there over the past few months, no one seemed to remember them. Hopefully they wouldn't be there for too long, only twenty minutes or so at the most. It didn't take _that_ long to get married, did it?

The only potential problem she foresaw was there being two couples getting married. She and Lizzie had talked about it briefly, a few weeks after William and Mason had made their engagement public. For them, it felt like a logical progression. The way Mags saw it, they'd already been lovers for years without making it official, had already been important to each other for nearly thirty years. It just made sense for them to get married, too.

Getting married the same day as William and Mason had been William's idea, though. It was a combination of pragmatism (“Do you really want to make two separate trips back to Diamond City?”) and sentimentality (“We've done everything else at the same time. Might as well get married the same day, too”) Mags found herself agreeing. (Later on, when she learned that Mason was irritated with the idea, she supported it even more. By now, though, he'd gotten over it.)

Someone turned off Raider Radio, and a quiet stillness descended. When was the last time she'd been outside on a calm night? The night the Disciples had sacked the Plant? No—that hadn't been calm. That night had been a tempest. She'd nearly lost William. It had been months, maybe years since the last time she'd gotten to really experience the night. On a night this clear, this peaceful, she realized that she didn't care anymore that her nearly-brother-in-law was the biggest jackass in the Commonwealth, because he made her brother happy. She was here with him, with _them_ , with her fiancée, and this was the happiest she'd ever been.

And after all, if not for this, what else could there be?

***

_“Got a note here from Mags, to Mason: 'Flaming bags of shit? That the best you can do?' Okay, I'm sorry, but that's funny. Stupid as hell, but funny.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: names. When Gage calls the Overboss "Laz," it's short for Lazarus, which is Apollo's real name. If/when I write the sequel to this, it'll probably come up that he only said his name was Apollo because he wasn't sure he wanted them to know his real name right off the bat. Also, I picked Matthew as Mason's first name as a subtle nod to Matthew Mercer. He's a good egg.
> 
> Also, some slight canon divergence regarding the Overboss's story about Shaun. I like the idea of synth kids still being able to age normally, so even though canonically Shaun will be a child forever, in this change, he'll age like a normal kid. Shaun's still a synth, and the Overboss lied to the raiders since he doesn't want them to know Shaun's a synth. Gage knows, though, he just doesn't care enough to tell them.

**Author's Note:**

> God, formatting this for posting made me realize just how rough this still is. YIKES. If you see any grammatical errors or continuity things I missed, let me know and I'll fix it.


End file.
